Foundations Of Trust
by QLTales
Summary: Trust - basis of great relationships that can be come become strained when situations conspire. When a new member joins the PQL team, she must earn Sam's and Al's trust. Meanwhile, Sam and Al must strengthen the bonds of trust that exist between them.
1. Chapter 1

Foundations of Trust

**Foundations of Trust**

By: QLTales

_Disclaimer: Quantum Leap and all related characters are owned by Belisarius Productions and Universal. No profit has been made off of the writing or distribution of this piece of fiction. _

**Chapter 1**

Sam leaned back in the chair, phone pressed to his ear while he waited for the person on the other end to come back to the line. He was in his office, the place he often retreated when he needed a bit of quiet to work. Unlike his lab down on one of the lower levels, the office provided him a sense of a calm and homey place.

An old battered couch was pushed up against one wall. It had served as his bed on many occasions when he found himself working late. His desk was covered with various piles of papers and folders. To anyone else, it looked like a chaos of paperwork but Sam knew where everything was.

Bookcases lined the wall across from the couch, the shelves full of the many volumes he'd collected over the years and mementos from his life. On his desk, kept safely away from the piles of paper that covered the surface, was the photo of Tom and him taken at his brother's graduation from Annapolis. A family photo was carefully placed next to it.

Two old but comfortable chairs pulled up in front of the desk for any visitors that might drop by completed the comfortable, homey appearance of the office.

Despite the relaxing atmosphere, Sam was anything but that as he impatiently tapped a pencil against the pad of paper in front of him while waiting to be taken off hold. Finally, he heard a voice on the other end of the phone. "3:00," he confirmed to the caller while looking at his watch. "Yeah, I can be there by 3:00. Thanks."

As he leaned over to hang up the phone, there was a short knock on the door followed by it opening. There was only one person who'd knock and come in before he said anything – Al. Sure enough, the man's head poked into the open area of the door. "Hey, you wanna go grab some lunch?" he asked as he pushed the door open completely and walked in.

Sam would rather have declined the offer but knew he should eat something. He'd skipped breakfast that morning and hadn't had much for dinner the previous night. He had to eat something.

"Sam, something wrong?" Al prompted when the younger man didn't answer right away. He took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"No, nothing's wrong. I was just thinking." Sam pushed his chair back from the desk and climbed to his feet. "Lunch sounds good." He started to the door without looking to see if Al was coming. "I…uh…after lunch I have to go into town. I have an appointment," he told Al as he stopped just in front of the door that Al had closed when he came in.

"What kind of appointment?"

Sam could hear the suspicion in the sentence and winced inside. He knew Al was probably going to get upset when he told him. The man had made it his job to look after him since they'd gotten back to the project after the car accident in DC. He'd driven him to each of his physical therapy appointments and follow up checkups with his doctors. Even when they'd been stuck in that cabin a few months ago, Al had still found a way to look after him despite his own broken leg.

The way he'd been acting, Sam was sure Al would think he'd failed somehow. "I have an appointment with Dr. Masters," he said without stopping. He pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor heading for the elevator bank. "I think I have strep…again."

Sam's forward progress was halted when Al grabbed him by the shoulder pulling him to a stop and turning him around. "What do you mean you have strep again? Sam, that's gonna be the third time in just about three months."

Shaking off the restraining hand, Sam gave his friend a surly look. "You think I don't know that. I can count that high." He spun back around again heading to the elevator. "C'mon, let's get going. I need to leave here to make a 3:00 appointment."

"We," Al corrected him. When Sam turned to look at him quizzically, Al further explained. "We have to leave for a 3:00 appointment. I want to know what's going on that you keep getting sick."

Sam sighed. He had to admit it was the third time he'd had strep throat since the middle of November and it was only the middle of February. He'd gotten over a bout of it just over a month ago.

Sam stopped and sighed turning to face Al. "You know I'm going to be a little more susceptible to picking up infections 'cause I lost my spleen. That's all it is so just calm down."

"I know that, Sam," Al shot back. "I also thought you got a shot back in October that was supposed to make sure you didn't get anything but that doesn't seem to be working."

Sam rubbed his hand over his face. In addition to his throat feeling like he'd swallowed broken glass, he was feeling miserable in general. "It was a flu and pneumonia vaccine and it's working just fine. I haven't had the flu and I don't have pneumonia." Seeing the stubborn look on Al's face, Sam knew there was no way the man wasn't going to go with him. "Fine, come with me if it's gonna make you happy. Dr. Masters isn't going to do anything different than the other two times. He'll probably give me a script for Amoxicillin, tell me to get rest, and drink lots of fluids. If you want to be there for that, fine with me.

"You're forgetting that's not what happened last time," Al reminded. "I can't believe you've forgotten what happened when you took the Keflex last time."

"No," the younger man sighed. "It'd be a little hard to forget that." He stopped and turned to face Al. "Look, it's just a simple strep infection this time, I'm sure of it. I'm going to get treatment right away so there's no chance that it could get worse like it was back in December. The Amoxicillin worked perfectly fine in November and I'm sure it'll work perfectly fine again." The more Sam talked, the more his throat hurt and from the sound of his voice, it seemed like laryngitis would probably end up a part of the mix.

"I'm just worried, Kid, that's all. It seems like nothing's ever simple where you're concerned. Besides, do you really want to drive that much feeling the way you do?" Since getting the cast off his leg at the end of the previous week, Al had been offering to do more and more of the driving.

Sam blew out a breath. Ok, so Al was hovering but it was because he was concerned. He realized he should be grateful for that. "I guess I don't," he agreed grudgingly. "That's probably why I put off calling until today. Ok, come with me."

"I knew you'd see it that way." Al put his hand on Sam's back and started to guide him back in the direction of the elevators. "C'mon and we'll grab something to eat. You can have some soup or something that won't hurt as bad when you swallow it." As they reached the bank of elevators and he pushed the call button, he asked, a casualness in his voice that didn't fool Sam one bit, "By the way, just how long have you been feeling like this?"

"Only since yesterday afternoon," Sam answered stepping into the elevator.

"Well, guess that explains why you didn't eat much dinner." The doors closed behind them as Al pushed the button that would take them to the level with the cafeteria. He looked down at his watch to see what time it was – 12:30. They'd have to leave by at least 1:45 in order to make it on time for Sam's appointment. That left them plenty of time to have lunch and not enough time for Sam to try to go back to his office to get in some more work before leaving. He figured that idea that was brewing would have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Al was sitting in the waiting room idly flipping through a magazine while Sam was in with Dr. Masters. When the door opened and his friend walked out, he tossed the magazine back on the table. Standing up, he joined Sam when he went over to the coat closet. "So," he asked. "How'd things go?" From his friend's morose expression, he guessed that this time it was something besides just strep throat.

"I've got strep," Sam stated.

"Well, so you were right, then. Why the hang-dog look?"

Sam got his coat from the small closet and handed Al his. "Because, once I get over this, Dr. Masters wants to check me in the hospital for a tonsillectomy." He mumbled the last word as he hurried to the office door.

"Wait a minute, hang on," Al called out hurrying to catch up to his quickly moving friend. He put a hand on his shoulder pulling him to a stop. Sam didn't turn around, just stood still with his head down. "What do mean he wants you in the hospital? I thought you said you'd just be on antibiotics again."

Sam heaved a breath and slowly turned to face Al. "He gave me Zithromax but this time when I'm over this I have to go to the hospital," he repeated. "I need to have my tonsils out."

"You what?" Al asked incredulously. "That's what happens to little kids. In case you missed it, you're not a little kid anymore."

"Gee, I must have missed that," Sam said sarcastically. He again turned to the office door exiting with Al close behind. "I never had 'em out when I was a kid and now Dr. Masters wants it done, hopefully, to prevent anymore throat infections."

"If that means you won't get strep again, I'm all for that." Al looked thoughtful for a moment. "Does that mean you get to eat all the ice cream you want?"

"What? I have to have surgery, ok; minor surgery, and you want to know if I'm gonna eat ice cream?" Sam led the way to the car, unlocking the passenger door for Al to get in. "Who cares what I eat? Frankly, I'd just rather skip the whole thing."

"Hey, Sam, if the doctor says it'll keep you healthier, then yeah, I think minor surgery is worth it," Al said reasonably. Besides, what the heck can go wrong? They do this with little kids all the time." He got into the Jeep. "As to the ice cream...well, I just want to make sure I stock up on your favorites. There's a sale at Smith's." He clarified, "Buy one, get one free...and it's the good stuff."

Sam circled around the car and got in on the driver's side. "The good stuff, huh? Just what would the good stuff be when it's ice cream?" He started the Jeep and pulled out of the parking space. "I know I need to have this done or the infections are just going to keep happening," he said answering the first of what Al had said. "It doesn't mean I have to like it. You know, I'd like to leave this world with a few of the body parts I had when I came into it."

"Well...at the rate you're going, that's not a given," Al quipped back. He went back to the question that in his mind was uppermost. "You know...the good stuff. Dreyer's. The really creamy variety. They have a chocolate mousse with dark chocolate pieces that...well, it's like going to heaven."

"Gee, thanks, Al," Sam replied dryly. "Your faith in me is so heartening." He stopped at a red light and looked over to Al. "Chocolate mousse, huh? That does sound good and you know how I feel about chocolate. Maybe there is an upside to this. All the ice cream I can eat and you to wait on me hand and foot," he teased looking at the older man with a smile. The light changed and Sam continued up the street. "It's gonna be at least two weeks before they do the surgery and I have to meet with an ENT before that. I think your sale's gonna be over by then."

"Yeah. That's what I mean about stocking up. We can get it now and just keep it in the freezer. My freezer's not too full. We can put some in there too."

"How much ice cream do you plan on me eating?" Sam asked with a laugh. "I don't think we need to use two freezers to put the stuff in unless, of course, you plan on eating it now."

Well...I do plan on eating some with you too, you know." With a shrug, Al finished. "Ok, we don't need to use my freezer. We'll just work on yours.

"Just work on..." Sam trailed off as he began to laugh once more. "I don't think we need to fill the whole freezer with just ice cream. I'll be able to eat other stuff, you know. Of course, if you plan on eating that much ice cream..." He let his voice trail off allowing Al to fill in his unspoken words. He stopped the car in front of the pharmacy, pulled a small paper out of his pocket, and showed it to his friend. "I just need to drop this off. You wanna wait out here or are you gonna come in?"

"I'll go in. Now that that cast is off, I need to exercise the leg a bit."

"Ok. I'm just gonna be in and out, though."

"Doesn't matter. I spent too much time waiting in the car the last few weeks. Now that I can move, I want to move. Besides...all this talk about chocolate - I want a candy bar."

Sam pulled open the door to the pharmacy and dug into his pocket. "That sounds good." He handed Al some money. "Can you get me one while I drop this off? I'll meet you up front."

"Sure. Snickers ok?"

"Snickers?" Sam asked in mock shock. "I thought you knew me better than that by now. A plain Hershey's chocolate bar, thank you very much."

"Yeah, I know...I was just kidding you Sam. I know how much you like your chocolate pure...sort of like your love life."

Sam recognized the bait Al was laying out for him and decided this time he wasn't going to take it. "Ha ha. Still working on that side job as a comic, I see." He waved Al in the direction of the candy display near the registers. "Just go get the chocolate and I'll drop this off then we can get going. You want to stop by your place? It's probably going to take a while for them to fill this. We'll have time to kill and your apartment's closer than my house."

"You're no fun today, Kid." Al complained when Sam didn't rise to his bait. He shook his head. "Yeah. I want to go by the house and pick up some things I'll need." He saw the confused look on Sam's face. "Well, with you being sick, it just makes sense that I stay over again."

Sam groused, "I'm sick, remember. I don't have to be fun today." He then questioned, still not getting why Al felt the need to move back in less than a week after going back to his apartment, "Why do you need to stay over again?"

"Because, it's my turn to move in with you," Al said with a laugh.

"Hey, I only did that cause Larry the Leach finally found a way to make it to New Mexico. What was I supposed to do?" Sam defended. "He was hanging around outside my house, for heaven's sake. I certainly didn't want him to know I was home." One side of the kid's mouth moved upwards to produce a half grin. "Coming over to your apartment for a few days seemed like a good plan."

Larry Baker, or Larry the Leach as Sam had taken to calling him, was a former classmate of Sam's from MIT who had a tendency of inviting himself where he wasn't wanted. "He'd threatened to visit Sam in December but his plans fell through when his girlfriend suddenly smartened up and left him. He'd left a message with Sam then to say that their 'reunion' would just have to wait. Sam had told Al that it felt more like dodging a bullet than anything else.

Earlier in the week, Larry had found a way to make the trip and after dropping Al off on Monday night, Sam had noticed a car parked in front of his house. Instead of pulling in, he'd driven down the road instead to see if he could see to whom the unrecognized car belonged. It had shaken him to see his former classmate and general bum at his door, trying to look inside the peephole. Sam had turned the car around and asked Al if he could stay at his place.

The same scenario had played out the next night. However, the third night Al had suggested that Larry probably wouldn't show. Sam had asked Al to come along with him to check. When Sam and Al walked into the house that night, a message had been left on the answering machine. It was Larry telling Sam that a great job opportunity had shown up for him in Alaska and he was sorry but they'd have to put their reunion off indefinitely. Sam had given Al a knowing look, but nothing was actually said. Still, Sam had known for certain that once again, Al had worked his magic and Larry wouldn't be making a reappearance anytime soon.

That has been on Wednesday. Now it looked like Al would be moving back in again after being back at his apartment for less than a week.

"If we need to kill time," Al suggested, "We can go looking for cars. Now that the cast is off, I can actually start test-driving. It'll just be easier to do it if I'm staying with you."

Feeling too tired to have to fight Al on having him move back in, Sam thought for a moment about Al's suggestion to go car shopping. "Where did you have in mind to look? I don't mind going with you but I'll be honest, I'm really not feeling too great right now and I don't think I'd be up to doing much."

Al nodded. For the most part, Socorro was really sort of deadsville for cars. There was a Ford dealership and another Buick one but he was pretty sure he wouldn't want either of those. Albuquerque would be the place to go. Still, since they had time to kill, it wouldn't hurt to see what the American automakers had on their lot. "Let's go by and check out the Ford's."

"Ok, that sounds good," Sam agreed before softly coughing into his fist. He took a couple of steps away from Al then turned back to him. "Hey, Al?" He waited until his friend turned back around to him. "Forget about that candy bar. I don't think I could really eat it."

"I'll get it for you for later. With your chocolate habit, you'll definitely want one later."

Sam smiled weakly at his friend. "I think your ice cream idea is a better one."

"Well, then, I'll skip your candy bar and we'll go by Smith's. You can get two and I'll get two."

"We'll have to do that after stopping by the Ford lot." Again, Sam started to walk away but turned back around. "While we're there, if I buy what you need, you wouldn't be interested in making your beef stew, would you?" he asked, his eyes wide and innocent.

"You really like that recipe of mine, don't you."

"Can you keep a secret?" Sam asked conspiratorially. "I like yours better that Mom's."

Al smiled. "Well, I have to be honest, it's Ruthie's recipe. She was a great cook. And don't worry;" he said answering with an equally conspiratorial voice, "your secret is safe with me."

"Yours or Ruthie's, it's still great." Sam started to walk away again. "I better get this back there or it's never going to get filled."

"Yeah...meet you at the front."

While Al went to the front to satisfy his sweet tooth, Sam went to the pharmacy window at the back to drop off his prescription. He joined his friend up front just as he finished paying for his candy and a bottle of water. "They said about an hour," he told Al as they walked out. "I'm not sure why it takes that long. All they're going to do is put a label on the package of pills. It's not like they even have to count them out into a bottle." As they approached his Jeep, he dug his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Al. "Do you mind driving?"

"Of course not Sam," Al said as he accepted the keys. "Even if I'm not crazy about the way a Jeep handles, I still like to drive."

"Next time I buy a car, I'll make sure it's one you like," Sam said dryly. He waited for Al to unlock the passenger door then got in. As soon as Al was in and had started the engine, Sam leaned over turning on the heater then put his seatbelt on. "So, you got any idea what kind of car you want to get?" He paused for a moment thinking. "Didn't you say something about wanting a red car or winning a red car or something when we were in the hospital? I've got this weird, hazy memory about talking about a new car."

Al looked at Sam as if he'd lost his mind. "Red car? New one?" Suddenly he laughed. "Oh, Sam, that was the _Price is Right_!"

"No," Sam insisted although he didn't sound sure of himself. "We talked about it, didn't we? You said you wanted a red car."

"I said I would have won a red car if I'd been on the show."

"On what show?" Somehow, the conversation had taken a turn into the strange and Sam felt like he'd been left a couple of miles behind. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Al with a slightly accusing look on his face. "Are you trying to confuse me? I know I haven't been the sharpest tool in the shed today but you don't have to make it worse."

Al looked at Sam. "You must be sick. I just told you. _The Price is Right_. You know...Bob Barker?

"Yes, I know Bob Barker – well, not personally." Sam rubbed his hands over his face. "Ok," he said patiently, "could you just please explain this all from the beginning because I'm obviously missing something here. I think I'd remember you being on _The Price Is Right_."

"No, Sam. I wasn't _on_ the _Price is Right_," Al corrected. "I was watching it in the hospital. I mentioned if I'd been on the show, I'd have won the red car."

"Really? You didn't say you wanted a red car? How the heck did I get that idea?"

"Well, I think they'd given you something or maybe you were just taking a nap."

"That probably explains it then. I was starting to feel like I'd just taken a turn in the Twilight Zone." Sam watched the passing scenery for a second or two then turned back to Al. "You still haven't told me what kind of car you're looking for. To be honest, I can't see you finding a Ford that you like. Me, maybe, but not you."

Neither can I, Sam, but I like to be informed. It's good to know what's available from all the makers before you decide on the one you want."

"I guess that makes sense." Sam leaned over and turned off the heater. When he sat back, he pulled the zipper down on his coat and rolled the window down a little. "Do you have any idea what you want to get? Even a ballpark idea? I mean, do you want something sporty, or..." he was about to suggest a basic sedan but knowing Al as well as he did, knew that that wouldn't be what the man had in mind.

"I want something that handles well - especially after what happened in Colorado. If I'd had a better car, what happened might not have."

Sam pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I really don't think it would have mattered what kind of car you had. I couldn't see the road. I could have been driving this and I probably still would have gone off the road. That was one hell of a storm. He turned his head slightly so he could see Al but still kept it against the window. "If you really want something that handles well, maybe you should just get a Jeep like this."

"Nah, I don't really like Jeeps. I was thinking of maybe a BMW."

"You don't like to drive American made do you?" Sam asked conversationally. He noticed it was getting harder to talk. At the rate he was going, he was willing to bet he'd have no voice soon. He cleared his throat hoping it would help. "I can't remember you ever driving a domestic car. How come?"

"I've driven domestic. Used to have a really sweet Corvette but the muscle cars have all turned into wimp mobiles and the SUVs are just gas guzzlers."

"Don't hold back. Tell us how you really feel." Sam made sure he kept his tone light to take any sting out of his words. They had reached Al's apartment building. Al pulled in and told him he'd be back in about ten minutes unless Sam wanted to come up. Sam declined. He was starting to feel more worn out. As Al promised, ten minutes later he came down with a small suitcase.

"Got what I needed, kKid. I can get other things later if I need them."

Sam nodded. "Ok," he said figuring the short word wouldn't strain his voice much.

Al smiled and got back behind the wheel after stowing the suitcase in the back. He pulled out and pointed the jJeep towards the dealership.

They were nearing the car lot that Al wanted to check out. From what he could see in the lot, it didn't look like anything that would interest his friend. There was a chance there'd be something in the showroom that'd catch his eye. "I'm guessing you're probably not looking for used."

"Well, not likely, but you never know."

"Let's go look," Sam said as Al brought the car to a stop. He zipped his coat back up, took off his seatbelt and opened the door. Before getting out, he pointed to the bottle of water that Al had bought and was now wedged between the seats. "You mind if I have some of that?"

"Sure Kid. Knock yourself out."

"Thanks." Sam grabbed the bottle, uncapped it, and drank deeply from it. "I guess you don't want..." When his voice broke, Sam stopped and cleared his throat and tried again. "I guess you don't want it back now."

"Definitely not, Kid," Al quickly agreed looking at the bottle in Sam's hand. If he took it back, he'd likely end up with the same thing Sam had. He made a beeline to the show room, knowing that was where they kept the 'nicer' models. He wanted to see all the bells and whistles and how much each cost. Sam followed along behind.

As soon as they walked into the showroom, Sam was drawn to an SUV on the right side of the showroom and went over to look at it while Al did some exploring of his own.

As Al looked at a Thunderbird in the show room, a man walked up to him and they started talking.

Noticing Al talking with a salesman, Sam continued to look at the Explorer that had caught his eye. A couple of minutes later another salesman approached him. "I'm just looking," Sam quickly told the man not wanting to get into a sales pitch. Much as he admired the vehicle, it just didn't make sense for him to purchase a new one right now. The Jeep he had was in perfectly good condition.

Sensing that Sam would not be a sale, the salesman walked off looking for someone else who was interested in a new car. Ten minutes later Al was still speaking with the other salesman. Sam wandered over to where some chairs were set up in front of the wide plate glass windows and sat down to wait for his friend. He nursed the bottle of water while he waited.

After another twenty minutes, Al walked over to Sam, who by this time had sunk down in his chair and started to nod off. "Time to go, Kid."

"Did you find anything?" Sam asked as he wearily got to his feet. He followed Al out and over to his Jeep. He went to the passenger side again letting Al once more drive.

"Well, I learned a heck of a lot. George was very unhappy when I left. He was sure he had me, hook, line, and sinker."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked once they were both in the Jeep. "You didn't lead that poor guy on that you were going to buy something, did you?"

"No. However, reality is in the eye of the perceiver. The fact that George convinced himself I would be buying something wasn't my fault."

"So I guess you struck out then. You want to look any place else today." Sam was hoping Al would answer in the negative and they could just go to the grocery store and get the ice cream and whatever Al needed for the beef stew then go back to pharmacy to pick up the prescription. After that, he just wanted to go home where he could be miserable in the comfort of his own home. It never failed. When he was sick enough to need to be hospitalized, he never really complained and most times didn't pay attention to how bad he was feeling. When it was something more minor, he ended up feeling as if he'd been run over by a truck.

"I wouldn't exactly call it striking out." Al was about to say he was going to check out the Buick dealer when he got a good look at Sam. The kid looked like hell. "No, we can just go by the store. By now the meds should be ready."

"Thanks." Although grateful that Al wasn't going to do any more car shopping today, Sam did feel bad that his friend was calling a halt to it because of him. He'd caught the way Al had looked at him before answering. "Tomorrow's Saturday. We can go look then or you can borrow my Jeep and go by yourself," he offered with a small smile. "Sorry I'm just not up to it right now. I thought I would be."

"Not a problem, Kid. I don't want to keep pulling you from place to place when you're not feeling well. We'll just play it by ear."

"I should be ok to go with you tomorrow." The drive from the car dealership to the grocery store was made mostly in silence. Talking was becoming difficult for Sam with his voice frequently breaking up. When they got to the grocery store, he sent up a silent prayer that the parking lot was mostly empty. It shouldn't take them too long to get what they needed.

"Ok, Sam." Al looked over at the kid. "You want to stay out in the car and rest? I know what to get here."

Sam was tempted to agree and stay in the car but decided against that. "Nah, I'll go in with you. I'm not sure if there's anything else I need to get."

"Ok,." Al got out and waited for his friend to join him.

Sam started to get out of the Jeep but stopped. "On second thought, I think I will just stay here if you don't mind." He pulled his wallet out and took some money from it handing it over to Al. "This should cover it. Can you get some juice? I don't care what kind, just not orange."

Al's was somewhat concerned, although not overly much. He knew when Sam's energy level dropped; it often did so like a stone. "Sure, Kid. I'll get some ginger ale too. I noticed you were out the other day."

Nodding in agreement, Sam got back in the Jeep and pulled the door closed. He spent the next several minutes watching people going back and forth across the parking lot. About 10 minutes after Al had gone in; he noticed a shopping cart that had been left behind that was rolling towards another car. He opened his door to get out and corraedl the wayward cart before it could do any damage. He didn't notice that when he leaned on the door getting out of the Jeep, he'd pushed the lock down.

As he jogged away to catch up with the run away cart, the door swung shut behind him. After he'd moved the cart to where it could do no damage, he went back to the Jeep only to discover he'd locked himself out. "Oh no," he sighed as he tugged uselessly on the door handle. He peered in half-expecting to see the keys hanging from the ignition but they weren't there. Al had taken them in with him so at least they'd be able to get back in. Sighing, he turned around to lean against the door until Al came back out.

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Al had gone into the store fully expecting it only to take about fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the new store manager had decided to rearrange the shelves. It took him twice as long to find everything and then he had to wait in line to pay. As he waited to check out he looked at his watch. It was a good thirty-five minutes he'd been gone. He was glad that the kid had stayed in the car.

Once the groceries had been bagged, he pushed the cart out, noticing that the air had turned chillier. Pulling his coat a little tighter, he moved towards Sam's Jeep, pulling out the keys as he did.

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Tired of standing by the car in the ten minutes since he'd locked himself out, Sam sat down on the ground, his back braced by the front tire. He tried to ignore the cold from the asphalt seeping through the material of his jeans.

In just a few minutes, it felt like the temperature had dropped about ten degrees and he pulled his coat tighter and buried his hands deep in the pockets. He wished he had his warmer wool coat. He pulled his legs up and hugged his arms around them, resting his head on knees. He kept an ear pealed to hear if a car started to pull into the vacant space next to the Jeep so he could get out of the way if it did.

He hoped that it wouldn't take long for Al to get done with the grocery shopping.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As Al neared Sam's Jeep, he was surprised to see a figure sitting against the front tire. When he realized that the figure was Sam, he hurried his step.

Leaving the loaded shopping cart behind the car, he moved up to squat beside Sam and rested a hand on his shoulder. He noticed that the kid had pulled as far into himself as he could and was shivering. "What are you doing sitting out here on the ground?" he asked in concern.

Sam slowly raised his head to meet Al's eyes. "Locked myself out." His voice was raspy and not much louder than a whisper.

"Why didn't you just come in the store?" Al asked, concerned that Sam wasn't thinking clearly.

"Didn't feel like it." Sam clasped the hand held out to him and let Al pull him up from the ground. "Didn't think you'd be that long."

"Well...things weren't where they normally were, so it took a bit more time," the older man explained. After pulling Sam up, he put his hand out to feel his forehead. "Damn it, Sam, you've got a fever now. You should have come in and gotten me!"

"Don't," Sam complained batting the hand away. "I didn't want to go in and get you. I waited just fine."

Al pulled his hand away. He wasn't happy with the kid's actions but he'd promised to accept that he could choose them. He opened the car door. "Fine, Sam. Get in and warm up. I'll put the groceries in the back." With that, he went to the back of the Jeep and started to unload the grocery sacks into the vehicle. When he was finished, he returned the cart to the collection point.

"I just hate when you do that in public," Sam explained once Al was in the car. "In private's one thing. If you want to play mother hen when we get to my house, that's fine, but do you have to do it in public?"

"I find you sitting on the cold asphalt with strep throat and check to see if you're ok...and that's a problem? Ok, sure. I can see your point," said Al trying just to let the moment go. He was still upset, but didn't say anything. He wondered how many other people had walked by and thought the man was nuts to be sitting there. There weren't many that would have taken that tack, but then, Sam's mind didn't tend to go in the same direction as many. That's what made him a genius. Nobody said that meant he had a lick of common sense. Instead, he drove to the pharmacy, glad the medications would be ready and that, hopefully, they'd put Sam on the road to health again.

"It's not a problem. It's just..." Sam trailed off on a sigh shaking his head slowly. "I can't explain it and I really don't have the energy right now. Can I just go home?"

"Gotta pick up your meds first, Kid."

"But after that, right?" Sam laid his face against the cool glass of the window. As chilled as he'd become sitting outside, his face felt as if it were burning.

"Sure." Al looked over at Sam, who looked like death warmed over. He sighed. He wondered if the kid would even want the beef stew. Chicken soup was likely more up his alley tonight.

"You're still gonna make the beef stew, aren't you," Sam asked almost as if he could read Al's thoughts.

"You sure? With that throat, it might be hard to swallow."

"I'm sure." Sam turned his head to look at his friend. "Anything's going to hurt to swallow so why not have something I like."

"Ok, then I'll make the stew." He made a mental note to cut the meat and vegetable small to make it easier for Sam to swallow. Pulling into one of the parking spaces in front of the pharmacy, he turned to Sam. "This time, you stay put," he said before jumping out and heading into the store.

Ignoring Al's order, Sam also got out of the Jeep and followed him into the pharmacy. "I need to get some stuff," he explained.

Al shrugged with resignation. The kid was asserting himself. "Suit yourself. Get what you need; I'll pick up your meds."

While Al went to the pharmacy counter at the back, Sam went over to the cough and cold aisle. First, he grabbed a package of lozenges and then a bottle of Nyquil. Dr. Masters hadn't told him to take it but he also hadn't prohibited it either. Last night had been a mostly sleepless night for him and he was determined tonight wasn't going to be a repeat. As an afterthought, he added a box of tissues as well then went up to the front to pay. He was just finishing there when Al met him with the small white bag his prescription was in.

"You get everything?" Al asked.

Eschewing a verbal answer, Sam nodded his head to indicate that he had everything he wanted and walked with Al back to the Jeep. It wouldn't be too much longer before he'd be home. He'd been convincing himself since locking himself out of the car at the grocery store that as soon as he got home and was in comfortable surroundings he wouldn't feel as bad.

Al nodded. Once they got to the Jeep and Sam was safely ensconced, he started to head back to the house. On the way, he turned into a small strip center with a variety of stores.

"Why are we stopping?" Al hadn't mentioned anything about stopping any place else and Sam wasn't sure he was up to another detour. "You said I could go home."

"I want to pick up a movie."

"I have movies at the house," Sam complained. "Can't you just watch one of them? Do we have to stop?"

"Sam, I haven't made it to the movies in months. I've been wanting to see _Pretty Woman_ since it came out. Tonight you'll probably crash and I want to watch something I want to see. I'll only be a minute."

"Ok," Sam agreed reluctantly, but then decided to try one last time to avoid the stop. "The ice cream's gonna melt, though."

"It won't melt that fast. Really, I'll be right in and right out. It's only one movie."

Sam nodded his acquiescence and gestured for Al to get out of the car with his hand. Hopefully it really would be a quick stop.

It truly did only take a few minutes. Al was back out and handed the bag to Sam. "It sounds like a nice movie."

Sam pulled the video from the bag and scanned the small synopsis before putting it back in the bag. "I guess." He turned to toss it in the back with the rest of the bags. He would have commented more on the movie but didn't want to waste what little of his voice was left.

"That Julia Roberts is going places, I'll tell you. I saw her in _Mystic Pizza_ and _Steel Magnolias_. She's a good actress." Al pulled out of the lot and onto the street, now heading out towards Sam's house . "Richard Gere, I can take or leave. he's too much of a pretty boy for my tastes."

"Mmm hmmm." Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back letting Al's words wash over him. He wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying but there was something familiar and comfortable about hearing his voice. There were too many times in his recent past where that voice had been the thread to his sanity. When he'd been lost in his mind's imaginings, it was that voice that had lead him back and he was sure that no matter what would come in the future, Al's voice would continue to have that power for him.

Al continued down the road making small talk. Suddenly, he put on the brakes, putting his hand out to keep Sam from shooting forward even though he knew the kid had on his seatbelt.

The sudden stop pulled Sam from the twilight doze he'd fallen into. "Wha?" he asked in confusion looking around.

"A deer, Sam," Al explained. He was shaken and looked over to the younger man to make sure he was all right. "You ok?"

"Yeah. 'M ok." Sam looked around but didn't see the deer and assumed it had run off.

"Good." The animal had been scared and had taken off in a flight. With Sam living out a ways, it happened. He pulled back onto the road. "We'll be home soon." The rest of the drive continued without incident and soon they were pulling into Sam's garage. "Get yourself inside. I'll get the groceries and stuff."

Sam shook his head and pointed to the bags of groceries. "I'll help." He took out a couple of bags and waited for Al over by the door since he still had the keys.

Al sighed. No matter what he suggested to the kid, he did the opposite. He decided to see how far Sam's attitude about this would go. "Ok, Kid. You can put all the groceries away."

"Ok," Sam mouthed. He pointed to the door to convey to Al that unless he came over and unlocked it, he wouldn't be able to do anything.

Al opened the door and Sam went into the kitchen with the bags he had and started to empty them while Al brought in the rest. "What do you need?" he asked gesturing to the food items he'd put on the counter.

"Um...carrots, stew beef, onions, potatoes, a can of crushed tomatoes. Don't worry about it."

Sam took the items Al had indicated and put them to the side before he started to put the rest of the groceries away. When Al brought in the last of the bags, he also. Soon all that was left out were the ingredients for the beef stew and the bag from the pharmacy that was still on the island.

Sam took the bottle of Nyquil, lozenges, and box of tissues out and put them aside to take into his bedroom. He opened the package of pills, pushed the first double dose out of the blister package, and swallowed it with some water. "You need any help putting the stew together?"

Al shook his head. "Nope."

Trusting that Al could handle the cooking, Sam took the bottle of Nyquil, lozenges, and box of tissue and went back to his bedroom. The Nyquil and lozenges he put in the bathroom and the tissues he put on the bedside table. He pulled some sweats out of a drawer and changed into them. The jeans, button down shirt and sweater he'd had on he left in a pile on the floor of his room.

Finished changing, he went back to the kitchen and stopped just inside the doorway. He watched Al chopping for a few moments then again asked "Sure you don't need help?"

Al turned to Sam. "Listen, Kid, you're sick. Why don't you just go sit down and watch the news or a movie or something. I'll be finished in about 20 minutes. Then we just need to let things cook."

Nodding, Sam left the kitchen and went to the living room. He found the remote stuffed between the cushions of one of the couches, pulled it out and used it to turn the TV on and switch on the national news. He made himself comfortable on the couch, pulling the quilt that was folded on the back down and wrapping it around his body. He settled back listening as Peter Jennings reported on the news of the day.

True to his word, Al entered the living room about twenty minutes later. "Dinner should be ready in about an hour."

Sam glanced up at Al and nodded to acknowledge he'd heard him then went back to the TV. The news had ended and he'd switched the station to one showing Jeopardy. In the past Al had complained about watching it with him because he'd answer just about every question before the contestants did. Tonight, though, he was content just to lie and watch.

Al looked over to Sam who was more subdued than normal. He wasn't even answering the questions. "You want something to drink?"

"Water," Sam mouthed trusting that Al would understand him.

Al nodded. He went into the kitchen, and retrieved a glass of water for Sam and a glass of ginger ale for himself. Taking them back in, he handed Sam's to him.

"Thanks," Sam mouthed accepting the glass of water. He took a couple of sips from it then leaned over to put it down on the coffee table. As he did, the phone on table between the two couches rang. He looked imploringly at Al to pick it up.

Al picked up the phone. "Hello?" It was obvious he was trying to say something but apparently, the person on the other end wouldn't let him say anything. Finally, he just said, "No, we don't want any," and hung up.

"Who was it?" Sam croaked. The part of the conversation he'd been able to hear was odd, to say the least, and he suspected it might have been someone trying to sell something.

"It was Washburn Windows. You know the ones with tagline, 'We help you see the beauty in the world.' They sure as hell don't with their pesky salespeople."

"They don't like to take no for an answer." Sam went quiet for a few minutes watching the TV before asking, "You wanna go to Albuquerque tomorrow and look for a car?"

"Let's see how you're feeling tomorrow, Sam. I can always check out the Buicks. You also need to be resting that voice," Al admonished.

"Ok," the ill man agreed. It was quiet again save for the TV before Sam started to chuckle softly. When he caught the questioning look on Al's face, he explained. "When I'm really sick I never want to listen to you or let you help. This is just minor and right now I'd probably let you spoon feed me."

Al shook his head. "Trust me; you're still your stubborn self." _Jeopardy_ was going off the air and _Wheel of Fortune_ was getting ready to start. "You want to watch that?"

"Sure." As the game show started, Sam tossed off the quilt and got up from the couch. "Mail," he said by way of explanation as he walked out to the foyer. He scooped up the small pile that was on the floor just inside the front door and took it back to the living room. Most of it he dropped on the coffee table since it was junk mail. The oversized envelope with his sister's return address on it was the first one he opened.

Inside was a note from Katie and a handful of pictures. He put the pictures aside and did his best to decipher his sister's handwriting on the note. Terrible penmanship was one of the things the two siblings had in common.

After reading the note, he picked up the pictures and flipped through them. They'd been taken when he and Al gone to Hawaii last month for his niece Sarah's christening. He smiled as he looked at them then handed them to Al. On top of the pile was a picture of him sleeping on his sister's couch with Sarah lying on his chest also asleep.

"Oh, Sam. That's a great picture. Sarah looks very happy with her uncle."

"I think she'd just cried herself out by then," Sam said looking at the picture again when Al held it up. He smiled fondly at the memory. As difficult as it may have been being left alone with his niece - well, left alone with Al - the peace he'd felt laying with her small body on his was something that he wouldn't soon forget.

"Babies do that. My third...no fourth wife's sister had a baby that we sometimes watched. Sometimes I'd have to walk and pat Michael's back for what seemed like hours. He had colic."

"Mmmm hmmm," Sam agreed as he wrapped up in the quilt again.

_Wheel of Fortune_ was almost over when the buzzer when off in the kitchen. Al went in and a minute later called out, "Dinner."

Sam unwrapped from the quilt and went into the kitchen. "Smells good," he forced out. He pulled two bowls down from the cupboard and put them on the island. Since it was just the two of them, they could just as easily eat there as at the table.

Al went over to the oven and pulled out some fresh baked breadsticks. "These should be good with the stew as well."

"Just stew," Sam said as he sat on one of the stools at the island. He waited while Al took the two bowls to fill them.

Al shrugged. "Suit yourself. I like being able to dip the bread into the sauce. Makes it yummola."

Sam accepted the bowl of stew Al handed him. He noticed that Al had tried to chop the ingredients smaller than usual but they still were too big. Using his spoon, he started to break the meat and vegetables into smaller pieces then started to eat it. Al had been right. It was hell swallowing it. It tasted as good as it always did, though, so Sam tried to concentrate on that, giving Al a thumbs up to indicate that he was enjoying it.

"Glad to see you're enjoying. If you want I can just stick it in a blender and pulverize it," Al joked. Seeing the look on Sam's face he quickly added, "Ok, no more jokes." "So, you want to watch _Pretty Woman_ with me or do something else."

"I think I'm gonna…" Sam started to reply but then stopped. He got up and started out of the kitchen indicating to Al that he'd be right back then went to his office. When he came back, he had a pad and pen in hand. I'M GOING TO READ, he wrote down and handed the pad over to Al.

Ok, Kid." Al said after swallowing the bite he'd just taken. "You know, that's a pretty good idea, writing down things you want to say. At least as long as you don't have to explain anything from quantum theory to anyone. That could take a lot of paper."

"Ha ha," Sam mouthed before digging back into the stew again. After a few mouthfuls, he got up to go the refrigerator. As he walked by Al, he tapped him on the shoulder, pantomimed drinking something, and raised his eyebrows in question.

"What do you want drink, Sam?" Al asked, thinking Sam was suggesting he get something.

Rolling his eyes Sam shook his head. "I was asking you what you wanted."

"Oh. Ok. Sorry. It's hard to know which way this works. Ginger ale is fine."

"You know, it's gonna be even worse when I get my tonsils out," Sam replied in a strained half-whisper.

"Don't worry, Kid, we'll figure it all out by then…and stop talking and use the paper," Al admonished.

Sam pulled the refrigerator open and took out a can of ginger ale for the older man and the bottle of cranberry apple juice. He brought them over to the island then went back for glasses. "Why this kind?" he asked as he started to pour the juice in the glass.

Hearing Sam trying to talk again, Al pointed to the pad of paper at his elbow. "Well, considering that the last time you had antibiotics, they said your kidneys could be affected, I figured cranberry juice would be good. Since you're not really crazy about it straight, I figured you'd like the kind mixed with the apple juice which I know you like."

Sam took a small sip from the glass and indicated that he liked the juice before eating more of the stew. He ate all that Al had put in the bowl except for a couple of bites before pushing it away. He picked up the pen again and wrote another note on it and handed it to Al then drank the rest of the juice.

Reading, Al saw that the kid was offering to do the clean up. "You sure, Sam? If you have to get over this before they take your tonsils out, you shouldn't push yourself too hard."

Reaching over, Sam took the pad of paper back. IT'S JUST A FEW DISHES he wrote then handed it back.

"Ok. Then I'll be in the living room getting cozy with Julia Roberts."

Sam nodded and waited until Al had left before he started to clean up. The leftover stew he put into a bowl then put it into the refrigerator. The dishes he rinsed off and put in the dishwasher. Since it wasn't filled yet, he decided it could wait until after breakfast to run. After a quick swipe over the island and stove with a wet sponge, he decided the kitchen was clean enough.

Looking at the microwave clock, he saw that it was just 8:30. It was too early to go to bed but he also didn't feel like staying up to watch the movie. Instead, he'd do exactly what he'd told Al and read in bed for a while.

As he walked through the living room to his bedroom, he went over to the couch Al was sitting on and tapped him to get his attention. "Gonna read in bed," he told the man before bidding him goodnight and continuing to his room.

He found the novel he'd been reading and settled in bed with it. About an hour later his eyes started to get heavy so he closed the book, put it on the bedside table, turned off the light, and settled down to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Al noticed that about an hour after Sam had come through the living room, the light went off in his room. He figured as sick as the kid was, he really needed his sleep. He hadn't let on, but he was concerned about the surgery a bit. He knew that mumps could be ok in kids but not adults. He wondered if there was a similar issue with tonsils. He decided he could call his own doctor on Monday and get the scoop on it.

In the meantime, he watched the movie. Once it was finished and while it rewound, he went over to Sam's room, peeking in. He noticed the blanket had been kicked off and he went and rearranged it. "Goodnight, Sam," he whispered, happy that the kid was sleeping.

It wasn't a deep sleep, though and the movement of the blanket over his body and the whispered words from Al woke him up. "Al" he questioned raising his head up from the pillow.

"Yeah, Kid?" Al asked, not sure how Sam would take his 'hovering' tonight.

"'M hot," Sam mumbled pushing the blanket down. "Thirsty."

Al reached out his hand and brushed it over his friend's forehead. He found that Sam was running a temperature. "Let me get you some Tylenol and water."

"Don't want 'em," Sam complained. "They hurt."

"They might hurt, but they'll bring down your temperature, reduce the pain in your throat, and help you sleep better. Besides, it'll only sting for a little while, "Al reasoned.

"Uh uh," Sam argued shaking his head. "I bought Nyquil. Has the same stuff."

"Well, you didn't tell me that, Kid. Let me get it for you. Where is it?"

Sam didn't answer, just pointed in the direction of the bathroom where he'd left the bottle earlier. He hoped Al would also bring him a glass of water since he was thirsty.

Al went into the adjoining room and opened the box of Nyquil. He measured out the right dosage in the provided plastic cup. Seeing a glass by the sink, he filled it, recalling Sam saying he was thirsty as well. He reasoned, like a cold, keeping hydrated was important. Going back to Sam, he handed the Nyquil dose to him. "Here you go, Kid," he said holding out the small cup of medicine when he came back in the bedroom.

Sam sat up and accepted the small cup. He swallowed the Nyquil quickly, grimacing at the taste of it then accepted the glass of water, draining that quickly as well. "Can I have some more?" he asked as he handed the glass back.

"Sure. As much as you want." Al went back, filled the glass again, and brought it back. "I guess it was a good thing I checked on you, huh."

"Mmmm hmmm." Sam drank about half of the second glass of water then put it down on the bedside table. He lay back down and reached to pull the blankets back up. "Thanks."

Al helped Sam get comfortable again. He took the glass of water and started back into the bathroom.

"Leave it," Sam requested when he saw Al pick up the glass to bring back to the bathroom. "Might want some later."

Al twisted his body so he addressed Sam. "I figured you might. I'm just going to make sure it's full for you." He continued into the bathroom, filled the glass, and then brought it back. He suddenly realized that the room he was staying in was on the other side of the house. "I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight, Sam. In case you need me."

"No," Sam answered adamantly. "Don't have to do that. Use the bedroom."

Al looked concerned about the request. "You won't be able to call me with that throat of yours." Snapping his fingers, he headed out the door. "Be right back."

When Al left the room, Sam started to get out of bed to follow him to see what he was going to do. He didn't mind that his friend felt a need to go into his hovering routine right now. In fact, he almost welcomed it. He just didn't want the man to start going overboard. He didn't make it to the door before Al returned holding the cowbell Sam had kept from the farm. Seeing him, he went back to the bed and sat down.

"If you ring that, I'll hear it," Al told him as he put the bell down on the bedside table.

Sam smiled, touched that Al was making sure he had a way to make his needs known. "Thank you," he mouthed as he again lay down and pulled the blankets up.

Al again made sure that Sam was comfortable. "Now, if you need anything, you let me know. Have pleasant dreams, Kid."

Al turned and left the room, keeping the door slightly open to assure he'd be able to hear anything and then went back to his room. Entering, he got ready for bed.

He sighed as he got into bed; pulling the book he was reading out to read a bit before he headed off to sleep. As he opened the book, the letter that he'd placed in it fell out. It had been the contents of the letter he'd wanted to discuss with the kid today when he came to ask him to lunch. Well, that and the conversation with Weitzman that the letter had initiated. When he found out Sam was sick he'd decided to wait. The information he was going to impart to him wouldn't help in his recovery.

Weitzman had sent the letter a little over a week before. It was addressed to Sam but had gotten mixed with his mail. Al hadn't noticed that, though, and had opened and read the salutation to Sam before he'd realized what he'd done. He'd quickly scanned the document rationalizing that Sam would share any information with him anyways. Reading, he'd been angered by what the Senator was planning to do and had called the senator right after to protest the decisions but had been vetoed. He'd been trying to figure out how to tell Sam but that had resulted in him simply putting it off. He told himself today was the day. It wasn't.

Weitzman had written that he was concerned that Sam was too ill and unstable to do the work he had proposed for the project. He cited Sam's actions at the budget meeting that had taken place at the end of the previous year. He also mentioned the many times that Sam had been ill or in the hospital since the project had been announced. Although he had acknowledged the _Time_ cover story, he had indicated that he would be assigning a physician/psychiatrist to the project to "assure that Dr. Beckett is able to perform the work."

It made Al's blood boil that the nozzle was using Sam's recent bad luck against him. Still, he knew they had no choice but to acquiesce. Deciding that he didn't want to read after all, he put the letter away and turned out the light hoping sleep would come soon.

QLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQL

It was nearly 2:15 and Sam was still awake. He looked over to the clock on his bedside table and let out an irritated sigh. He'd hoped that the Nyquil would help him to fall asleep, and it had. It just hadn't done anything to keep him that way. For the last half hour, he'd been tossing and turning trying to find sleep again.

After another 20 minutes of the same, he threw back the blankets in frustration. He was never going to fall asleep at this rate and the longer he just laid there trying, the longer it would take it to happen. He decided that if he spent a little bit of time – maybe a half hour – working in his office he might get himself to a point of being able to sleep. He'd just have to take care not to wake Al who was sleeping in the room next to the office.

He padded quietly out of his room but didn't go straight to the office. Instead, he detoured over to the sliding doors in the living room first and looked out at the moonlit desert.

After a few minutes of that, he started to wander in the direction of his office. When he reached that end of the house, he stopped, hearing strange noises coming from the guestroom where Al was. It sounded like the man was having some kind of bad dream. Sam stayed silently outside the door for a minute or two waiting to see if whatever was disturbing his friend's sleep would pass.

When the sounds continued, Sam pushed open the door and quietly walked in. "Al," he whispered but that didn't seem to have any effect as the man continued to moan and thrash about in the bed. He tried calling his name again louder but a whisper was all he could manage. He'd have no choice but to reach out and try to shake him out of the dream. Al generally didn't react well to being touched when he had a nightmare but Sam decided this time he'd just have to take his chances.

Gently, he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder and shook it slightly while again calling his name as loudly as he could.

Al's eyes opened wide as he sat up in the bed. "No! No! You can't do that to him. You'll turn Sam into a vegetable!" he cried out. He looked around confused as to where he was.

Sam was taken aback by the words he heard Al saying. Usually when he had nightmares, it was about his time in Vietnam. Sam could never remember Al dreaming about him. He'd taken a couple of steps back when the older man had sat up. Cautiously, he closed that distance again. "I'm here. I'm ok," he tried to force out although the best he could still achieve was barely a whisper.

Al turned to the sound and saw Sam. "Sam? Oh God, Sam, you're ok." He reached out and touched his forehead. "They didn't hurt you."

Realizing that it wasn't a need to hover that prompted Al to reach out and him but the need to reassure him that he was whole, Sam didn't shrink back from his touch. "Who's 'they'?" he forced out.

"Um...the doctor's. You were going in for surgery."

"Just routine," Sam pointed out in an effort to assure Al that nothing should go wrong with the surgery he was scheduled for. He hadn't realized his friend might be having any worries about it. Of course, he may not have picked up on that since he was dealing with his own stress and worry about the impending hospital visit. "I'll be ok."

Al looked confused again and then recognition flooded his face. "You're getting your tonsils out. That's what you're going in for. They won't be..." Suddenly he stopped and then finished, "You'll be ok."

"Yeah, ok." Sam looked quizzically at his friend in the gloomy darkness trying to puzzle out what had been disturbing his sleep. "What'd you think?"

Al was quickly losing his disorientation. His dream had been troubling and had seemed so real. Weitzman had been in it and he'd ordered that Sam have a frontal lobotomy to put an end to the project. He realized that his concern about the tonsil surgery as well as his concern about the new shrink had likely combined into one hell of a nightmare. Smiling weakly at Sam, Al decided to brush it off. "Um...nothing...Sam. I just had a bad dream, that's all."

"You sure?" It seemed to Sam that his friend was hiding something. He would have liked to press him on it more but knew right now that wasn't likely to happen. Still, he had to give it a try. "Want to talk?"

Al looked over at Sam, wondering why the younger man had come to check on him. It was supposed to be the other way around. "What are you doing up, Sam. You should be getting some rest so you can get over this latest bout with strep."

Sam shrugged one shoulder before answering simply, "Was awake. Couldn't sleep. Heard you."

"Was I that loud?" Al asked concerned. "Gee, Sam, I'm sorry I disturbed you."

Sam shook his head denying that Al had been loud enough for him to hear in his room. "Was gonna do some work and I heard you."

Al nodded. "Ok. I'm glad I didn't." He looked at his friend with concern. "Why can't you sleep?"

"Don't know." Sam moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, his back to Al. "I'm tired but I can't sleep." He looked over his shoulder at his friend. "I really want to." The more he spoke, the worse his voice sounded.

"Do you have any more of those Valium that doctor gave you in December?"

"I don't wanna take them. I just want to sleep."

"Well, wouldn't they help you get to sleep?" Al pointed out reasonably as he smiled. "They certainly knocked you out on the plane." He recalled that Sam had used several of the pills on the way to and from Hawaii.

"I don't wanna do that. I should be able to sleep without taking drugs." Sam blew out an irritated breath. "I'm so tired."

"Well, you know, sometimes when you're really tired, it seems your body puts up a fight. I wouldn't think of it as taking drugs so much as relaxing yourself so your body can follow along."

"No," Sam mouthed as he got up from the bed. He started to walk towards the door to leave the room. "I'll just do some work 'til I'm ready to sleep." He wasn't sure how much of what he'd said - or attempted to say - Al understood since his voice kept breaking but assumed he'd get the gist of what he'd said.

Al realized that once again the kid was going to be stubborn. He decided this was a battle that just wasn't worth fighting. Sam would work a bit and then be ready for sleep. Either that or Sam would keep working and he'd try again later after the kid had tried his way. Regardless of the outcome, this wasn't the time to push. "Ok, Sam. Don't work too long."

Sam came to a quick stop just outside the bedroom door and looked back to Al quizzically. This was a strange turn of events. In the past, Al would have continued to argue with him to take the pills, not agreed so quickly. "Really?" he questioned to be sure he'd heard right.

"Yeah, Kid, really. Remember, you said I need to respect your wishes."

Sam silently nodded his head then left the bedroom to go into the office. He booted up the computer but after 10 minutes, realized he wouldn't be able to accomplish any work. He might not be able to go to sleep but he was too tired to make sense out of anything. Frustrated, he turned off the computer and went back to the guestroom. He softly knocked on the door and waited to see if Al were still awake or if he'd gone back to sleep.

The fact that Sam was having difficulties sleeping put Al on alert again. He had lain back down but kept a watchful ear on the kid. He had to admit he was a bit surprised to hear a soft knock on the door so quickly. He turned the light back on. "Come in."

Sam pushed the door open and started to walk in but stopped. Shaking his head, he mouthed, "Sorry", and pulled back out of the room. Just because he was having a hard time sleeping, didn't mean he should intrude on Al's sleep. He'd just have to go back to his room and tough it out. Eventually he'd be so tired he wouldn't be able to do anything but sleep. He'd just have to deal with it until then.

Al was surprised by the action. He called after Sam, "Hey Kid, nothing to be sorry about. Come on back in."

Hearing Al call after him, Sam stopped and turned around. Again, he shook his head. "No, it's ok," he croaked before starting up the hall again. He wasn't even sure why he'd gone knocking on Al's door. It wasn't as if his friend could do anything that could help.

As he walked by the kitchen, he considered getting a glass of warm milk. When he was a child that had always seemed to help soothe him to sleep. It just seemed like too much work, though, and he discarded the idea and continued to his bedroom.

When he got to his room, Sam went over to the bed and got in under the blankets. He curled up on his side and hoped that the elusive sleep would find him sooner than later. Realizing in the position he was in he'd just keep looking at the alarm clock, he rolled over so that he was facing the sliding doors although he couldn't see out of them since the vertical blinds were in place.

As Sam went back to his room, Al's concern headed up another notch. He quickly pulled on his robe and slippers and followed his friend. He watched from the hall as Sam seemed to hesitate by the kitchen before continuing up the hallway.

It gave Al an idea. After Sam went into his room, he went into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out the milk. Putting some in a saucepan, he warmed it up on the stove, adding a bit of Bailey's to it. One of their suppliers had sent Sam a bottle for Christmas. He knew it wouldn't taste that alcoholic but that would help relax the kid. Taking two mugs of it, he headed to his friend's room. "Hey Sam, you still awake?" he called softly, not sure if his measures would be needed or not.

Hearing Al call out softly from the doorway, Sam sat up and waved his friend in. "What's that?" he asked seeing the two mugs.

Al shrugged. "I figured with the nightmares, I needed a little something and wondered if you might join me." He knew it was a partial lie. It wasn't the nightmares that bothered him as much as it was Sam's inability to sleep at this point. The kid didn't need to know that though. He held out one of the mugs to Sam, sat down on the edge of the bed, and started to sip at his mug.

Accepting the mug that Al held out to him, Sam peeked in to see what was inside of it and smiled when he saw that it was filled with milk. He could feel the warmth of it radiating through the mug. "Read my mind," he said before taking a sip. Something tasted a little different but he shrugged it off to the fact that he hadn't had warm milk in a while.

"Yeah, well...it sure helps me sometimes." Al took a sip from his mug. The alcohol was greatly diluted by the milk. The Bailey's gave it a pleasant taste.

"Thanks," Sam said and took another sip from the mug. The two of them drank the warm milk in relative silence. By the time his mug was almost empty, Sam could feel a warm drowsiness overtake him. He began to suspect why the milk tasted a little different and realized he was getting drowsy so fast because there was more than just milk in the mug. "You put something in this?" he accused although with little heat.

"Just a little Bailey's, Sam. More for the flavor than anything," Al said, hoping Sam would accept that. He never took alcohol use lightly since he'd battled it and won with Sam's help not so many years ago.

"It helps," Sam croaked out then drained the mug. "That's not why you did it, though." A part of him wanted to be angry with Al for, essentially, tricking him but he just couldn't. The Bailey's was pretty much harmless and it was going to help him to achieve the one thing he desired right now – sleep. As he handed the now empty mug back to Al, a yawn almost split his face in two.

Al took Sam's empty mug and put it and his down on the bedside table then got up from the side of the bed. "Looks like it's doing its job," he observed. "Why don't you lie back down now and get some sleep." He waited until Sam had done as he suggested then pulled the blankets up over his friend. "Try to get some sleep now, Kid," he suggested before leaving the room and going to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Al had been up an hour and he still hadn't heard anything from Sam's room. Considering that the younger man had such a hard time falling asleep last night, he wasn't surprised that he was sleeping late. The rest would probably do him a world of good.

Despite the fact that resting would go a long way toward helping Sam to feel better, Al knew that the medication he'd been prescribed would do an even better job. That was the only reason he found himself knocking softly on Sam's door. When there was no response, he quietly pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

It was still dim in the bedroom since the shades and blinds were in place but there was enough light for Al to make out that Sam was curled up in the middle of the bed still sleeping. As he watched, Sam shifted from his side to his back and Al suspected that he was starting to wake up. He didn't take much care to stay quiet when he approached the bed since his intent was to wake Sam completely.

"Sam?" he quietly called when he was standing by the bed. In response to his call, Sam wrinkled his nose slightly before again rolling over so that his back was to Al.

"Why'd I think this was gonna be easy?" Al asked himself. This time he shook Sam's shoulder gently while calling out, "Wakey, wakey, Kid. Time to greet the morning."

Again, Sam did his best to get away from the voice and touch hitching further away from Al. "This is ridiculous," Al complained to himself. "When he should be sleeping last night he's up and wandering around and now I can't get him to budge." This time he wasn't as gentle when he shook Sam's shoulder. "You need to wake up now, Sam," he said firmly.

This time his wake up call had some effect. Sam rolled back over onto his back and squinted his eyes open staring up at Al for a few seconds before squeezing them shut. "Why you wakin' me?" he asked in a voice not much stronger than it had been the night before.

"It's starting to get late," Al pointed out. "You need to take your meds and should probably eat a little something, too." He grasped Sam by both shoulders and urged him to sit up then pressed the palm of one hand to his friend's forehead checking his temperature. "You're not as hot as you were last night but you're still warm so you should probably take some Tylenol, too."

Sam didn't give the appearance of wanting to get out of bed and Al had the feeling if he let go of the shoulder he still had a hold of, he probably would have lain back down and gone right back to sleep. "C'mon," he encouraged, "You just need to get up for a little while. You take your meds and eat something and if you still want to go back to sleep, I'll make up the couch for you. Deal?"

Sam let out a breath realizing Al wasn't going to let up until he got out of bed. "Ok," he croaked out with a nod. He pushed the blankets off his body, got out of bed, and headed in the direction of the master bath. "I'll be right out," he said as he swung the door shut.

While Sam took care of his morning ablutions, Al went back to the kitchen and started to get something ready for the kid to eat for breakfast. It was doubtful he'd be up to eating much.

By the time Sam made it out to the kitchen, Al was just putting a bowl of Cream of Wheat on the table next to his meds and a glass of milk. He gestured for Sam to sit down at the table. "I put some milk and sugar in it just like you like. I figured that should be easy for you to swallow. You want me to cut some bananas up in there? I bought some yesterday."

"No," Sam said as he sat at the table. "This is fine. Thank you."

"Good," the older man replied as he sat down opposite his friend. He put the cup of coffee he had down next to a plate with bacon and eggs on it. "Now keep that mouth shut. You'll never get over the laryngitis if you keep talking." Al again got up from the table and retrieved the notepad and pen from the island where Sam had left it the night before. He handed the two over to the younger man. "For the rest of today, you need to talk, you write it out." He sat back down at his place and took a sip from his coffee. "Consider it practice for when you have your tonsils out."

Sam grimaced at the reminder of the impending surgery but nodded to indicate that he'd do as Al requested. He started to eat the Cream of Wheat but after a couple of bites he got up to get the sugar bowl from the island and added a little bit more. "Not sweet enough," he croaked then caught the stern look on Al's face. He held up his hands to stall the man from chastising him again then scribbled a quick note and handed the pad over to Al.

Al took the pad of paper and read the note on it. NO MORE TALKING, I GET IT. "You get it. Now remember it," he admonished after reading.

Nodding, Sam took the pad of paper back, and wrote another note on it before handing it to Al once again.

Again, Al read the words Sam had written. WANT TO GO TO ALBUQUERQUE AND CAR SHOP? He answered, aloud. "We can if you're up to it. I don't want to push you."

Sam opened his mouth to start to say something but thought the better of it, reached for the pad instead, and scribbled out another note. JUST GONNA SIT WHILE YOU DRIVE...GET BORED HERE. When he was done writing, he pushed the paper back to Al.

"Ok. Then after breakfast, we can drive up there. Now, eat."

Nodding, Sam finished off the rest of the cereal in the bowl. When it was empty, he swallowed the pills Al had put on the table and washed them down with the milk. "Gonna shower," he said when he'd finished eating. When it looked like Al was going to remind him to write instead of talking yet again, he put on his best puppy dog look in the hopes that it would defuse him.

Al shook his head. "Fine, go on. I'll get ready as well as soon as I clean up these dishes. He paused, "Oh but Sam, just don't sing in the shower."

"Ha ha," Sam mouthed. He took his bowl and cup over to the sink and put them down there. Before he walked away, he knocked his fist against the dishwasher reminding Al that it was there and that the dishes should be put in it.

He went to his room and pulled out clothes from his closet and dresser to wear and put them on his bed before going into the bathroom to shower. As he stood beneath the warm spray of water, he shook his head and laughed silently. He didn't normally sing in the shower but it seemed that since Al had prohibited it, he wanted to do just that.

Finished in the shower, he dried off and wrapped a towel around his hips while he shaved and brushed his teeth at the mirror then went into his bedroom to get dressed. Fully dressed in jeans and his favorite fisherman knit sweater, he went looking for Al in the kitchen. When he didn't find him in the kitchen, he assumed he'd gone to shower and dress as well so he went back to the living room and turned on the TV while he waited for his friend to get ready.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Al went back to his room to prepare for the day. He was in and out of the shower quickly, picking out a pair of black trousers and a turquoise silk shirt with black piping and sliver collar clips. A nice bolo tie completed the outfit. Leaving the bedroom, he found Sam in the living room. "What'cha watching, Sam?" he asked. Realizing Sam wouldn't be able to answer without talking he amended. "Don't tell me."

"Cartoons," Sam forced out despite being told not to answer. "I can't not talk all day," he added. He turned off the TV and got up from the couch. "Ready?" he asked as he walked to the coat closet in the foyer to get his and Al's coats.

Al shook his head. "Not quite yet. I'm going to go get that pad of paper. You might have to talk occasionally, but it's still good practice for when your tonsils are out and you really can't talk."

"Suit yourself," Sam said with a shrug of his shoulders. He knew how bad his handwriting was. If Al were going to insist he keep writing things down, he'd have to deal with trying to read it. While waiting for the other man to come back with the pad and pen, he got their coats from the closet. He put Al's on the back of the armchair then pulled his coat on. It was the same dark gray pea coat Al had bought for him when he was finally released from the hospital last year. It was one of the few fond memories he had of that time.

Al came out of the kitchen and handed Sam the paper and pen. "Ok. Use these as much as you can."

Sam took the paper and pen then threw a jaunty salute in Al's direction. Once the older man had his coat on, he handed him the keys to the Jeep and gestured for him to lead the way to the garage. It was going to be an interesting day if his friend kept insisting he write everything down. He did have a point, though; it would be good practice for the days immediately after the surgery when it would be more important for him not to strain his voice.

Al figured it was going to be a quiet drive up to Albuquerque. He took the keys from Sam. Before they walked out he asked, "Maybe we should bring some extra CD's. You know. Something to listen to since it'll be quiet."

CD PLAYER'S BROKEN, Sam wrote down then handed the note to Al. "Sorry," he apologized as his friend read it.

"Oh, great," Al groused. He sighed, "Does the radio work? Otherwise, it'll be a quiet trip, that's for sure."

Regretfully, Sam shook his head no. A couple of weeks ago when a CD had gotten stuck and kept playing over and over, very loudly, he'd disconnected the whole thing. He hadn't found the time to take it in to the dealer to get the CD unstuck and the whole thing hooked up again.

"Lovely," Al said. "Oh well." He got an evil glint in his eye. "You know, I could always sing, you know, to make the trip go faster?"

Sam rapidly shook his head then pantomimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. He'd had the fortune, rather misfortune, of hearing him sing in the past and it was not something he wanted to repeat at the moment. Maybe in a couple of weeks when he had some pain pills and would be too loopy to care, Al's singing wouldn't be too bad. Today, trapped in the Jeep with him, it would be close to torture.

Al laughed, "Yeah, that's about what I thought you'd say."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They had been to three dealerships with Al, like the day before, checking out everything about the new models. They'd seen the relatively new Saturn, what was being offered by BMW, and the latest from Toyota. Al still hadn't found what he liked. He suggested to Sam that they go to lunch. "What would you like to eat?"

"I don't care," Sam responded before pulling the pad of paper and pen from his pocket and writing on it quickly. NO REAL APPETITE - SOUP MAYBE. After visiting three different dealerships, he was starting to wish he'd stayed at home while Al went car shopping. He hadn't realized when he said he wanted to come how much it would take out of him.

Al looked at his friend. Sam looked drawn. "You want to just go home? We can do this another day or I can come back myself tomorrow."

Sam shook his head. "See how I feel after lunch," he croaked out. He knew he wasn't using the pad of paper as much as his friend would have liked but it really did slow down communication. "Don't start," he ordered when he saw Al gearing up to remind him yet again.

"Ok. Fine," Al said. "We can go over to the Cooperage. You can get your soup and I can get something more substantial," he said, realizing that fighting Sam on this would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Ok." Sam followed Al out the Jeep and got in on the passenger side. He liked the Cooperage but hadn't been there in a while so he was happy with Al's suggestion. He didn't think there could be that many more dealerships Al would want to look at. Maybe when they got to the next one he'd just wait in the Jeep while his friend shopped to his heart's content. He didn't see any reason why they should drive all the way back to Socorro just for Al to turn around and drive back to Albuquerque tomorrow.

At the restaurant, Al ordered shrimp while Sam stuck to the soup and salad bar. As they sat in the rather rustic looking restaurant whose looks belied the actual quality of the place, they dug in. "You know what the biggest problem is, Sam?" When Sam shook his head to indicate he had no idea why none of the cars he had looked at had appealed to him he continued, "It's that I really want car that can really perform well, you know?"

"No, not really." Sam put a mouthful of the cream of chicken soup in his mouth then scribbled on the paper. YOU WANNA ATTACH A ROCKET TO ONE OF THEM?

"Ha ha, Sam," Al said after reading the note. "Still, a car that handles as well as a fighter jet would be nice."

"You really think you're gonna find one?" They'd looked at a lot of cars already today. Al had found something wrong with nearly all of them and Sam wasn't holding out much hope that his friend would find anything today.

"Well, I'm not going to just settle for the first car that comes along. There's got to be something out there that comes closer than what we've seen."

"And you called me fussy." Sam well remembered the hard time Al had given him when he'd gone car shopping a couple of years ago. He'd only gone to three dealers before settling on the Jeep he was currently driving.

"Yeah...but your fussiness was for a completely different reason."

"How?" Sam challenged. He couldn't see any way that there could be a difference. They both knew what they wanted and searched for just that.

"Because I'm looking for performance. You were looking for the car that met the basic criteria and all you had to decide on was the deal and the color."

"That's not all..." Sam started to say but cut himself off. Reaching for the pen, he chose to write instead. THAT'S NOT ALL I WAS LOOKING FOR. I WAS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING THAT FELT GOOD TO DRIVE.

"Yeah...I know, Kid. It was still somewhat different."

"Only in your head." Sam finished the bowl of soup and pushed it aside. He picked up his glass of water and sipped it slowly. The cold wetness of it brought some relief to the burning in his throat at least for a little while. He hadn't had the forethought to bring any water with him. The waiter came over and asked the two men if they were interested in dessert. Sam shook his head no but indicated that if Al wanted something he should get it.

Al shook his head. "Why don't we go over to that new place that I've heard about? They're supposed to have an in with all the new car manufacturers."

"Ok," Sam agreed before looking to the waiter. "Could we get the check now?" he asked. He planned on treating his friend for this meal if he could actually get to the check fast enough. He wasn't sure how it happened but no matter how hard he tried, Al always seemed to get to it first. Maybe since he'd asked directly for it, it would be handed to him. Just to be sure, he looked across to Al and croaked out, "My treat."

Al looked at him, "You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" When the waiter came back with the check, Sam glanced at it then handed his credit card to the man. "Sometimes you act like I don't have two nickels to rub together," he complained. Unfortunately, his voice kept breaking so the only words audible were "sometimes," "don't," and "two nickels."

The waiter gave Sam a rather strange look as he took the credit card. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Sam answered.

Shrugging, the waiter walked away to run Sam's credit card. When he had, Sam again repeated himself with the same results. Getting a strange look from Al now, he turned to the pen and paper again and wrote what he'd been trying to say then handed it to Al.

Al took the paper and read it then responded. "It's just that I enjoy taking care of those things. Once less thing you have to worry about."

"It's nothing to worry about."

"Ok, if it's nothing to worry about...we won't worry."

"Good." The waiter came back with the receipt. Sam checked to make sure everything looked ok, added in the tip, and signed it. "You ready?"

Al nodded. "You know, Sam, this new place might just save us some time. You know, in looking?"

Sam nodded as he got up from the table. "I might wait in the Jeep while you look. You mind?" He was pleased when he heard that enough of his words were audible at some level and should make sense.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the showroom?"

"Rather not go in, if you don't mind." Sam started to walk toward the door trusting that Al would follow behind. When he got to the door, he stopped to button his coat completely and flipped the collar up.

They quickly walked to the Jeep. Once inside, Al drove to the new place. When they arrived, he looked over to Sam. "You sure you don't want to come in?"

Sam shook his head.

"Stay warm at least and this time, if you lock yourself out, come get me." Al then headed into the rather nondescript building hoping to find the car of his dreams.

QLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQL

While Al was in the showroom, Sam leaned back and closed his eyes thinking he'd take the time to rest. He was only like that for a few minutes. As tired as he was feeling, he just didn't want to sleep in the car. Instead, he pulled out the notebook he'd been using to communicate with and flipped to a blank page. He started jotting notes for an idea he had for the computer that would run PQL. He was soon lost in what he was doing and didn't notice how long it was before Al came back.

Al had been in the showroom about an hour when he came out smiling broadly. "Sam, this place is great!"

Sam barely flicked his eyes in Al's direction, engrossed in what he was doing. "Mmm hmmm. Glad."

Al noted Sam's focus was elsewhere. "What are you working on?"

"Mmm hmmm," Sam agreed although he didn't know what he'd just agreed to. He didn't have the foggiest notion what Al had said but it had sounded like a question. He scribbled a few more lines on the page he was on and flipped it to keep going but he'd come to the end of the notebook. Flipping through it, he saw that he'd filled all of the pages. He opened the glove box but there was nothing in there he could use. "Damn," he said softly. He'd have to wait until he got home to continue.

"Why don't you use the backside of the pages," Al suggested seeing Sam's dilemma.

"I did." Sam flipped through the pages again showing his friend that the pages were covered back and front.

"Oh, ok. Give me a minute." Al turned to go back into the showroom.

"No," Sam said reaching out to try to grab Al before he could get out. "Where you going? Thought you were done?"

"I am. I'm going to get you more paper. I know you. When you're on a roll, you're on a roll."

"No. S'ok. I'll just finish at home."

"Ok, Sam," Al agreed getting back in the car. "I think I'm going to work with these people. We can do a lot of it online."

"That's good." Sam put the notebook into his pocket and settled back for the ride home. "You find something?" he asked as Al started the Jeep.

"Well, not exactly. I'm working with an account rep name Frank. He's going to do the searching based on my specifications and then we're going to talk."

"That's good," Sam agreed. "Gonna take long?"

Al pulled out of the parking spot and got into traffic before answering. "I don't know. First time I've tried this type of thing."

Sam nodded his head then looked out the window for a few minutes. "Need to go anywhere else?" he asked looking back over to Al.

Al shook his head. "Only back to Socorro. I'm going to let Frank do the work on this one. He has all the right connections." He looked over to Sam. "Besides, you look like you're not feeling too well. I figure getting back home is probably in your best interests."

Sam smiled slightly. Al didn't know how right he was about how he was feeling. He was sure if Dr. Masters knew he'd spent most of the day going from car dealer to car dealer with Al, the man wouldn't be at all happy. What Sam had neglected to mention to Al was that the doctor had stressed that he should get as much rest as possible to ensure that the antibiotic would do its work and he'd get over the infection as soon as possible. "I guess you're right," he admitted. It was no use denying that he was really starting to feel done in.

"Ok, Kid, then south it is."

Sam opened the glove box again and pushed the contents around in it before shutting it. "You don't happen to have some Tylenol or aspirin, do you?"

"Um...no, but there's a Walgreen's up ahead. I'll pull in."

"It's ok, I can wait."

"You sure, Kid? It will only take a minute and you'd feel better."

"I'm sure. Let's just go home."

"Ok," answered Al. Soon they were on the highway heading back to Socorro. "So, what's coming out of that noggin of yours, Sam? You don't fill a notebook if you're not onto something."

Sam opened his mouth to start to explain but then shut it and shook his head. "Show you when we get home," he offered instead. He just wasn't up to the explanation right now and didn't think his voice would hold out for it. He also wasn't sure if what he'd been writing made sense or if it was just a jumble of ideas.

Al heard the raspiness in Sam's voice. "Yeah. That's a better idea. Don't want you to strain your voice."

They traveled in silence again. As they got close to Socorro, Al asked, "We need to pick up anything at the store before we head to the house?"

Shaking his head, Sam slouched a little lower in the seat. Knowing that he wasn't being very good company, especially since neither the CD player nor radio were working, he offered an apology. "Sorry, guess I'm not really good company."

"Don't worry about that, Sam. I just want you to get better."

There was quiet in the car for another few minutes that Sam eventually broke. "It's gonna seem strange when you go back to your place."

Yeah. You know I spend most of my time over at your place, Kid. Even when I'm at home, most times I'm not."

"Keep tellin' you to give up that place and save yourself some money." They were nearing Sam's house now and he was glad to be getting back home. "Want me to cook dinner."

"Sure," Al said answering the last first. "It's not the money, Sam. I need a place to entertain. I can't really do that at your place."

"I don't see why you can't entertain…" Sam cut himself off when he finally caught on to what Al had been talking about. "Oh yeah, guess not." He mentally inventoried what was in the freezer and refrigerator. "Pork chops ok?"

"Pork chops sound fine." Al paused then asked, "You got any apples? Your mother showed me how to do that fried apple thing she did with the pork chops when we were in Hawaii. I can at least contribute to the meal that way."

"None you'd want to eat and you don't have to help." It seemed the same thing happened every time Sam said he would take care of putting a meal together. Al always had to offer to do something and when his mother had been visiting, she'd done the same thing. He didn't think either really trusted him alone in the kitchen although they'd both eaten his cooking before...and survived.

"Ok, Sam. Just thought you might like those. Your Mom said you used to enjoy them as a kid."

"Actually, I never really did like them. That was Tom but Mom always assumed that I liked them too. I guess you didn't notice I didn't really eat 'em when Mom made them when we were in Hawaii."

"Why would she assume you liked the same things Tom did?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's just a Mom thing." Sam cleared his throat hoping it would help to improve his voice. "She used to make stuff I liked all the time and then couldn't figure out why Tom didn't eat it. I guess it's the same reason she'd call me Tom sometimes and she'd call Tom Sam."

Al shrugged. "The nuns did that sometimes, but not always. They always seemed to get my name right."

That garnered a smile and laugh out of Sam. "I imagine they said your name a whole lot."

"Oh yeah. 'Albert this and Albert that.' I swear a kid could hardly be a kid in that place."

"Maybe that explains it," Sam said softly looking over to Al.

"Explains what?" asked Al, with mild curiosity.

"Explains why you act like a big kid sometimes."

Al considered that. "Maybe. I just think that life is too short not to enjoy oneself."

"You 'enjoy yourself' enough for two people," Sam responded humorously.

"Just making up for lost time, Kid."

"I think you've done that and then some," Sam pointed out. They were nearing the house and he was happy to be home. He had a little while before he'd have to start the dinner preparations and he intended to use that time to do his best impression of a couch potato.

Al didn't answer Sam's latest assessment. He knew that the two men saw things like 'entertainment' and 'fun' quite differently but then again, they'd come from two completely different backgrounds. Still, they did have interests in common. "So, what do you want to do tonight?"

With Al's question, Sam saw his time as a couch potato evaporating. That was one place where the two men couldn't be more different. Sam was content just to stay at home. Al, on the other hand, was always more apt to look for something to do for entertainment. "I was hoping not to do anything, to tell you the truth. I'd rather just stay home tonight."

"Ok. Movie time?" the older man asked. He'd been around Sam long enough to know that when the kid was under the weather, he generally like to stay home and watch TV or put in a movie.

What Sam really wanted to do was carry through on the ideas he'd been writing out. He knew if he did that, though, he'd end up staying awake working long into the night and not getting any rest. If he were to find himself well enough to return to work on Monday morning, he'd have to make sure he got enough rest through the rest of the weekend. "Sounds good. Still have the two from Christmas."

"Ok. That sounds like a plan."

The house was in sight now and a few minutes later Al was parking the Jeep in the garage. Sam got out and waited for Al by the door leading into the laundry room since his friend still had the keys to unlock it. "I don't know if there's any popcorn," he said when Al joined him at the door and unlocked it. "I didn't think about it yesterday."

"No problem kid. We have some tortilla chips and salsa. That works almost as well as popcorn." Al unlocked the door and headed in knowing Sam would follow.

"Ok." Once in the house, Sam took off his coat and handed it to Al to hang up while he went into the kitchen. He pulled the pork chops out of the freezer and put them on a plate on the counter to thaw out. Likely, they'd still be frozen when it came time to cook them and he'd have to finish thawing them in the microwave.

Deciding that everything else needed for dinner could wait a while, he went to his room. He changed the jeans and sweater he was wearing for a comfortable, broken-in pair of sweat pants and sweatshirt then went back to the living room. He settled down on one of the couches after pulling the TV remote from between the cushions, turned on the TV and started to flip through the channels.

He stopped only long enough to pull the quilt from the back of the couch. He wasn't sure where Al was and assumed he'd gone back to the guest room. He was still flipping through the channels when Al came into the living room.

"You need anything, Sam? Glass of water?" Al figured he could get it before settling in to watch whatever the kid finally stopped surfing on.

Sam remembered that he'd wanted to take some Tylenol earlier to see if it would do anything for the headache he'd had since just after lunch. It wasn't bad, just persistent. He was comfortable right now and didn't want to get up so figured this time it wouldn't be bad to let Al get what he needed. "Yeah, water's good. Would you mind getting some Tylenol, too?"

"Of course." Al knew where Sam kept the bottle of his analgesic of choice. After retrieving the pills and the glass of water, he brought them in. "Here you go." Once Sam had taken them from him, he went to get a glass for himself.

"Thanks," Sam said taking the pills and the glass. As he swallowed the pills, he was reminded of how badly his throat was bothering him again - probably because he'd been talking so much. He remembered the bag of lozenges he bought yesterday but, again, just didn't feel like getting up to get them. Instead, he emptied the glass of water and set it on the end table.

The channel he'd stopped on when he accepted the glass of water and pills was showing an episode of _I Love Lucy_ and he decided to leave it there. He settled down on the couch, resting his head on the overstuffed arm.

Once he returned with his own glass of water, Al plopped down in the armchair next to the couch. "So what are we watching?"

"_I Love Lucy_," Sam answered. His throat really was starting to burn now. He hated to ask his friend to get up again but right now, he just didn't have it in him to move from where he was. "Al, would you mind getting me those lozenges I bought? They're in my room."

Al loved the old shows like these. This was the episode when Lucy met William Holden. Still when Sam asked him, he nodded. "Sure, Kid." He got up again and retrieved the requested medicine. "Throat's still really bothering you, huh."

Sam nodded as he took the lozenges Al handed him. "Should feel better tomorrow." He unwrapped one of the lozenges and put it in his mouth then pulled the quilt higher up. He wasn't really cold but it brought a measure of comfort to him and had for as long as he could remember. He rubbed his hand over a square that he knew came from one of his father's old shirts. "Grandma made this," he told Al not knowing that his friend already knew where the quilt came from.

Al smiled softly. "Your mother said. She told me it held a lot of memories for you."

"Didn't know that. When?" Sam asked. He looked at the clock on the VCR and saw he had about an hour before he'd have to start dinner. Plenty of time to rest and, if he fell asleep or lost track of time, he was sure Al would remind him.

"When she was here after we left Colorado Springs. You were pretty sick then and she said that the quilt had always been a source of comfort for you since your grandmother made it."

"Yeah, I guess so." Sam looked from Al to the TV just in time to see Lucy's fake nose catch fire as William Holden lit her cigarette and he started to laugh softly. It didn't matter how many times he'd seen the episodes, they never failed to get a laugh out of him.

Al too enjoyed the slapstick of the woman comedian. "She just never gives up, does she?"

"Nope," Sam agreed. The episode ended and another one started. He hoped that that meant that the station was doing a marathon of episodes. _I Love Lucy_ was one of the few TV shows that he could watch repeatedly and he thought it was perfect for a day like today. He could just curl up on the couch, watch it, and not have to think. Already he could feel himself relaxing and getting the rest that Dr. Masters had wanted for him. "Remind me about dinner," he asked Al when he started to feel like he might relax too much to remember it on his own.

Al looked at Sam scrunching into the quilt. "You sure you wouldn't like me to take over the cooking duties?"

"I'll do it. Just remind me."

"Ok, Sam. You just looked like you were getting comfortable."

"That's why you need to remind me," Sam explained. "About an hour and I gotta start it." As he spoke, he wished that he'd grabbed a pillow off his bed to be more comfortable. Although the arm of the couch was stuffed, it wasn't as comfortable as a pillow.

Al noticed the kid trying to find a place to lay his head. He got up quietly and retrieved a pillow off of the kid's bed. He handed it to his friend. "Looking for this?" he asked. He was pretty sure that Sam would be asleep in an hour but knew that if he didn't wake him, there'd be hell to pay. Sam had been asserting his independence strongly over the past few months.

"Thanks," Sam said as he accepted the pillow. "I'll just rest for a little while like the doctor said then I'll be ok." He bit his lip when he realized he's unintentionally told Al that getting rest was precisely what the doctor had told him to do. He braced for what he could guess was coming. Al had been doing his best to keep his hovering to a bare minimum of late but he had a pretty good feeling that that wasn't going to be the case right now.

"The doctor told you to rest? Why is this the first I'm hearing about it, Sam." Al realized he was sounding like a mother hen again, but he couldn't help it. Still, he figured that with the shrink coming on board soon, having Sam healthy was a top priority. "You know, if you want to get back to the project, you've got to beat this thing quickly."

"I know," Sam sighed. "I just didn't want to stay home and be bored all day."

"So instead you had to push it. You'd better let me take on dinner tonight. You need to rest."

Sam wanted to argue but he knew Al was right. "Ok," he agreed. "I guess you're right. I should have stayed home."

"Ok then. You just take it easy tonight."

"Ok, I guess that's a good idea." Sam snuggled down under the quilt and didn't say anything when Al bent over to straighten it out. At least for the rest of the day he was willing to give in and let Al take the lead. He was right. The sooner he got over the strep infection, the sooner he could have the surgery done, and the sooner he'd be back at work without any interruptions...and the less likely Weitzman was to have kittens or try to get them shut down.

Al watched as Sam pulled the quilt closer. Now wasn't the time to bring up the shrink. The kid said he'd be better tomorrow, maybe then. In the meantime, they both watched the next episode of Lucy, Sam falling asleep before it was over. Al quietly padded to the kitchen and started the pork chops.

Sam awoke in a darkened room. The TV was off and he was by himself although he could hear sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen and could smell food cooking. Pushing the quilt aside, he got up and went to see what Al was doing. "Want some help," he asked as he stopped in the kitchen doorway.

"Just about finished, Kid. I turned off the TV about a half hour ago. You were pretty far into la la land." Al put the salad on the island where they usually ate. "Pork chops will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

Seeing that the cooking was well in hand, Sam pulled plates, cups, and silverware from the cupboards and drawers and set them down on the island. Once that was done, he sat at one of the stools there and rubbed his hand across his face. He couldn't tell if his face was hotter than it should be or not. He was tempted to ask Al's opinion but wasn't sure what response that would garner. He hadn't been pleased to hear that he'd had skipped over the doctor's orders to rest. Sam was fairly certain that asking if it felt like he was running a temperature wouldn't get any better of a reaction. "Smells good," he commented as he watched Al finish the dinner preparations.

"Thanks," Al said. He went over to the refrigerator and asked, "So, what kind of salad dressing you want?"

"Um...none. I don't think I'm going to have any salad."

"No salad?" Al asked, somewhat surprised. "Ok, but it has those homemade croutons that I make that you like are in it."

"No," Sam said emphatically. It was a safe bet those croutons wouldn't go down very easy. "What else is there?" he asked hoping that Al might have mashed potatoes or something else that he'd be able to eat easier.

"I made mashed potatoes and green beans to go with the pork chops."

Mashed potatoes he knew he'd be able to eat easily. While he waited for the pork chops to finish, Sam got the bottle of cranapple juice from the fridge, poured a glass out, and slowly sipped at it. No matter how many times he'd watched Al cook, he was always impressed that he did it so effortlessly and with so little mess. When Al cooked, there were hardly any dishes or pans in evidence when he was done. When Sam cooked, he ended up with the counters and sink littered with the dishes he'd used. "I still don't understand how you don't end up with a mess like I do."

Al checked to make sure that everything would come out at the same time and then went over and sat down, putting some salad in his salad bowl and adding the Italian dressing. He noted that Sam was having some juice and figured that that was sort of equivalent. Stabbing some of the greens, he answered before taking a bite, "It's all about cleaning up as you go."

"I've tried that. It never seems to work." Sam took another sip from the glass of juice. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't decide to take up cooking for a living."

Al smiled. "Yeah, I've seen your kitchen technique. They should call you Hurricane Sam."

"Ha ha. Really, Al, if you ever think of changing careers you should consider comedy."

"Ya think?" his friend shot back, knowing from Sam's inflection that he didn't.

"Yeah. You do comedy, and I'll be a chef."

"Sounds like if the project ever flops, we have our next careers lined up."

Any pretense of humor on Sam's part quickly melted away. "Don't even joke about that, Al."

"What?" Al said with surprise. "The project's not going to flop, so we don't have anything to worry about." He knew that Weitzman wanted nothing more than to find something to sink them, but he was sure they'd weather that storm.

"Just don't, Al, ok. Just don't." That was one of Sam's biggest fears right now - that something would happen that would end up with the project being closed before he could finish his work and prove his theories...before he could travel in time. It's what he'd thought about and dreamed about for as long as he could remember. He was at the cusp of finally seeing that dream realized but he knew how tenuous it could all be and how easily it could be taken from him.

"Ok Kid, no joking." Al got up and started to fix both of their plates, the food now being ready to serve. He figured with Sam as upset as this made him, he might want to rethink his plan to wait until the kid was over his strep to tell him about the changes soon to come at the project. While he was concerned that Sam might not want any dinner after telling him, he figured that the sooner he let him know about the new psychiatrist coming on board, the better Sam would ultimately handle it. As he placed the plates at their place settings, he coughed. "Um...Sam? You remember yesterday when I came to see if you wanted to get lunch?"

"Yeah," Sam said tentatively as he started to cut into his pork chop. Based on Al's tone of voice, he had a feeling something was up and he might not like whatever it was.

"Well, I was coming in to do more than that. I had a conversation with Weitzman."

The bit of pork chop he'd been ready to put into his mouth Sam lowered to the plate. "What did he say and why are you just telling me now?"

He started to explain. "The conversation was about a week ago, after I read the letter the nozzle sent. I was trying to find the right time to tell you about it, but you'd seemed so busy recently and I didn't want to distract you. I was coming to talk to you about it yesterday, but then you had this strep thing again and I wanted to see what the doctor said before hitting you with something that might upset you."

"Letter?" Sam carefully laid his fork and knife on his plate. His voice was deceptively calm as he asked, "What letter would this be and why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?" he asked once more. Guessing the reason Al would give he added, "And don't use me being sick as an excuse not to tell me about whatever the letter is or talking with Weitzman." He had to struggle to keep his voice strong enough to be heard.

"I wouldn't be bringing it up now if I didn't figure that I should say something. At least you've started the antibiotics and you were saying you thought you'd be better tomorrow..." Seeing that Sam was not taking this round about discussion well, he went straight to it. "Weitzman's decided that the project should have a psychiatrist on staff." He awaited the fireworks he knew would be coming.

"You mean Weitzman's sending out a psychiatrist to prove that I'm looney and shut us down, don't you?" Sam slammed his fist down on the counter. "I'm gonna lose it, aren't I? I'm gonna lose it before I get a chance to really even start the work."

Al was afraid this was how Sam would take the news. He knew he had a point. Weitzman was the kind of person to use this kind of ploy to get what he wanted. However, he also knew that there were many ways to circumvent his plan. "You're not going to lose it, Sam. He'll have to go through me first." Al said his words with an edge that would leave anyone knowing he meant every word.

"I didn't even have a chance," Sam said quietly apparently not hearing what Al had said. "It's not fair. It's just not fair." He pushed his plate away and got up going over to the back door. "I won't lose this," he said as he pulled the door open and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. He didn't know what he could do to get through this roadblock but he wasn't going to let his project - his dream be taken away from him without some kind of fight.

Al watched as Sam got up, and felt his heart fall. For what seemed the 100th time since opening the letter, he composed an Italian curse at the man whose actions were causing the kid's reactions. Al got up and went out the door. "Sam, it's going to be ok. We're not going to let Weitzman win on this one, I promise you."

"Not now, Al," Sam said softly. He went as far as the low wall that marked the edge of his property and sat down on it looking up at the darkened sky. The wind blew ruffling his hair and he hugged his arms around himself to keep warm. "I've worked so hard for this. I'm not crazy."

Al watched as Sam walked off. He didn't want the kid feeling like this, but he knew that's just the way he was made. Sam would internalize this. He needed his space for the moment. Seeing the dark sky and knowing it was chilly, he went in to retrieve one of Sam's coats. Picking out a favorite leather one that had some padding in it, he went back out the door and over to Sam. "Here. You don't need to get chilled. I'll be inside."

Sam didn't move to take the coat held out to him. "I'm not crazy," he repeated. "I'm not." There was just the smallest touch of a question to his statement almost as if he were begging his friend for assurance.

Al took a breath. "No. You're not crazy, but to almost anyone, this project sounds like a crazy idea. The fact that they can't see it isn't your fault."

"But it is my fault," Sam argued. "It's my ideas, my project. If I can't make people understand it, it is my fault." He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Who am I kidding anyway? Maybe Weitzman knows something I don't know. Maybe I am crazy. No one sane tries to travel in time."

Al shook his head. "No. People will believe that they choose to believe. You're a scientist. You think in numbers and theories. Most people don't even know how to start that. I guarantee Weitzman doesn't." He paused. "Besides, some of the most fantastic things have happened because someone took the chance to take what everyone else thought was insane and brought it to fruition. How the hell do you think we got to the moon?"

Sam shook his head slowly denying what Al had said. "It doesn't matter what happened before. Weitzman's never been keen on this...on me...from the beginning. You know that. All he needs is one little thing and that's it." He rubbed his hands up his arms as a shiver rippled his frame. "I don't know what to do if I lose the project. Everything I've done my whole life has been geared to this. I don't know what else to do." He spared a look over his shoulder at Al. "It's not just me. What happens to everyone else if they close us down? They'll all be out of work because of me."

"It's not going to happen, Kid. This project will make it. Weitzman may be a senator and he may be the head of the committee, but that doesn't give him the power to shut us down. He's fishing. We'll just make sure that nothing bites." He pushed the coat closer to Sam again. "Put this on. You're already sick; you don't need to make it worse."

"I don't need it," Sam said pushing the coat away. "I just feel like...I feel..." He blew out a frustrated breath. "I've just got a bad feeling."

Al stopped. He knew the chill wouldn't be good with the strep, but he'd said he'd respect the kid's choices. "Would you come in then? The wind is pretty chilly out here and if you're not going to put on the coat, at least it's warm inside." He then addressed Sam's feelings. "As to a bad feeling, you've done this before, Sam - borrowing trouble when there isn't any reason to. What we need to do is make sure that the shrink has nothing he can report that would support that nozzle."

Sam turned to face Al again. "Nothing he can report?" he asked with a small, bitter laugh. "A government funded project to travel in time...like that's not going to give him something to report. I'm not borrowing trouble. I'm just being realistic." He turned away again. "It's not cold out here. I'm hot."

"That's already on record, Sam. The government supported this project already. Weitzman is looking to find something that he can use to convince them that was a mistake. We've got project reports that show the progress we're making. We've hit every milestone on time and on budget. There's simply nothing he can report." He continued, "That's why Weitzman's trying this route. Nothing else he's done has worked. He's trying to shake you and you're letting him." Realizing suddenly what Sam had said, he reached out his hand to the kid's forehead. "Damn it, Sam, you're burning up."

Sam didn't brush off Al's hand this time and leaned into it. "It's a budget I know nothing about. I told you after that meeting. I told you he was going to use it against me but you didn't believe me. Darn it, I acted like I knew nothing about the project I'm supposed to be in charge of.

Al, concerned as he was at Sam's temperature, had to laugh at that. "Sam, you're not supposed to know anything about the budget. Weitzman knows that's why you have me on this project. That's just good business sense." He thought for a moment. "Maybe that's why he's calling for this change. He's trying to get me to think you're crazy."

"So do you?" Sam asked point blank. "Do you think I'm crazy and you've just been humoring me?" It wasn't an idea that had ever crossed his mind before but tonight Sam was feeling unsure of himself and had to know for sure.

Al looked at Sam as if he'd stabbed him in the heart. "Humoring you? You think I'd throw my body and soul into this project simply to humor you?"

"I didn't mean to insult you, Al. I just...we're friends. I know the extent you would go to if you thought it was for my sake. You hiked off a mountain for me."

Al looked Sam directly in the eyes. "Yeah. We're friends. Best friends and I'm thankful that you decided some time ago to take a chance on me and help me turn my life around. I owe you for that big time and really, that's the point. You think I'd humor you to get you a contract that wasn't sustainable? If you believe that's the type of person I am...to set up my best friend for failure, then I'm not sure you really know me."

"No, I didn't mean," Sam said shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Al. I didn't mean that you set me up. I just...I just..." he trailed off when he couldn't find the words he wanted and blew out another breath. "I just...I guess I'm not feeling too sure of myself right now. I didn't mean anything against you." He looked imploringly at his friend begging him to understand him. "You know I wouldn't."

Al's visage softened. "Yeah. I know." It killed him that Weitzman was getting to Sam this way. He made a vow at that moment that no matter what the senator from hell tried to do, he'd find a way to keep him from succeeding at destroying Sam's dreams, even if it meant his own career. "Now, you need to come in, Kid. You're really sick. I don't want it to get worse and find myself having to drag your butt into the emergency room, capish?"

"No," Sam refused. "You go in and eat your dinner. I want to sit out here for a little while and think."

Al had promised not to push, but this was getting ridiculous. "Sam, I don't mind you thinking. I'll leave you alone, but you're really sick. You know I'm right. Either come inside and do your thinking or put on the coat. I'd prefer the first, but you can be a stubborn cuss. Your choice.

"But I'm not cold. I'm hot." Sam wiped a hand over his face. "I'm hot and sweaty. I just want to sit out here where it's cooler and I can think."

"You're hot and sweaty 'cause you're running a fever. You're the doctor here. You don't need to be out in the cold wind right now."

"Why is it you always remember my MD when you want me to do what you want but you conveniently forget about it other times?"

Al let out a sigh, but decided to sidestep that one. "Come on, Sam. Get inside and take some Tylenol or something."

"It's too early to take anything and I don't want to go in right now. Just go on, I won't be long." Sam knew he wouldn't be outside long. He really did want to go in now but his stubbornness had kicked in and he didn't want to go in because he was being told to. "Go on before your dinner gets any colder," he urged.

Seeing that Sam was digging in his heels, Al decided to let it go for the time being. He'd give the kid fifteen minutes and if he hadn't come in by then, he'd try again. There were times when the kid could be exasperating. "Fine, Sam, just fine." He turned and walked into the house.

Sam knew Al was angry - or at least frustrated with him - but he needed to do things his way right now even if it wasn't the wisest choice. It seemed come Monday doing things his way wasn't going to be an option - or at least it wasn't going to be an option he should take - so he felt the need to do it now. He didn't want to upset his friend but didn't know what else to do right now.

He wasn't sure why the idea of a psychiatrist coming on board the project was bothering him so much. If he could look at it objectively, it was probably a good thing. Stuck under the desert the way they were, it was probably going to be very beneficial to have someone there looking out for their mental well-being. Still, he couldn't shake off the feeling that the only reason why the psychiatrist was being sent was to find a reason to shut them down and the most likely reason was that he was non-compos mentis.

It wasn't just his dream going up in smoke that was bothering him. It was as he'd told Al. If that happened, there'd be a lot of people out of work and it would be his fault.

Heaving a sigh, he got up from the wall and started back into the house. He wasn't going to solve anything out here and he'd only succeed in frustrating Al even more. He needed his friend on his side, not irritated with him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

When Al looked out the window and saw that Sam was making his way back to the house, he felt the tension in his neck ease. The kid had had a minute and a half to go before he went out and dragged him bodily back inside. He took both of their plates and carried them over to the microwave to be reheated.

Sam came in the door and closed it behind him, leaning against it as he watched Al put the plates in the microwave one by one. "You didn't have to wait for me," he said softly unsure if his friend was still going to be irritated with him.

"It's more enjoyable to eat with a friend than alone, Sam," Al said quietly.

A short nod was Sam's only answer before he went over and took his seat again. "I never thought you did anything to set me up fail. I know you wouldn't ever do anything like that. I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

"That's the way it sounded, Sam. That's all." Al kept his voice neutral not wanting to feed into Sam's frustrations anymore. If the kid were going to go to extremes with an emotional response, he'd have to stay on an even keel for his sake.

"Are you angry?" Sam asked unsure of what the answer would be. Head down he added, "I'd understand if you were."

Al took the two now reheated plates back to the island. "I'm not angry, Kid. In my heart, I knew you couldn't have meant that. It just sort of stung a bit."

"I didn't mean it." Sam accepted his plate and put it down. "This is just bad timing. I don't think it could be any worse. I've got an appointment with the ENT on Wednesday afternoon and probably soon after that I'm going to end up in the hospital for the tonsillectomy. Then I'm going to end up out a couple of days because of it." He covered his face with both hands. "The timing on this just couldn't be worse."

"Well, there's nothing that can be done about it and it may not be all bad. If you're not around, the shrink won't be able to say anything. Even Weitzman wouldn't hold taking your doctor's advice against you." He smiled. "Now our heath insurance is another matter," Al said kiddingly.

"So instead of being too looney, I'm just too sick. My health's just to damned fragile for me to continue."

"He'd have to get a valid doctor's opinion about that...probably two or three. I doubt that would happen. Other than a few relatively minor things in the grand scheme of things, you're as healthy as a horse."

"Minor?" Sam put a bite of pork chop in his mouth and chewed it well. "If I've only had a few "minor" things, I'd hate to see what your idea of major is. I'm 37 years old and I need to have my tonsils out. That's supposed to happen to kids. You don't think Weitzman isn't going to be eating this up?"

"He probably is and he probably thinks this gives him some power which is why he's showing his hand now." Al took a sip of his ginger ale. "Thing is, he's wrong. I'm telling you Sam, we'll get through this hurdle. You need to stop worrying." Al figured he could worry enough for the two of them.

"Why?" Sam stabbed the green beans on his plate with his fork then used it to point at Al. "You're worrying. Why shouldn't I?"

"I'm Italian. I'm supposed to worry. You're supposed to be a simple farm boy from Indiana," Al said, trying to lighten things up.

Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what Al had said. "What? That makes no sense." Before Al started to explain, he held up his hand to stop him. "No, don't explain it. I've had a headache; I don't need it to be a migraine."

Al nodded. "You need to take something?"

"No. It's too early." Sam ate another bite of pork chop. "This is good - probably better than what I would have done."

"Thanks." Al decided not to say anything more about the upcoming issues. Instead, he turned the conversation. "So, what were you writing on the pad today?"

Sam hesitated trying to decide whether or not to share what he'd been doing with his friend. He decided against it. "It's not ready yet. I need to do more work on it." He didn't know if the idea he'd been working on would ever be ready. After their previous discussion of his sanity - or lack thereof - he didn't think right now was a good idea to share his latest idea with anyone. He may have asked if Al had been humoring him but he knew that he wouldn't do that if he thought Sam's ideas were really out there. Right now, he wasn't up to actually being told he'd lost his hold on reality.

"Ok." Al nodded. "So, after dinner, we still good for the movie?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam answered. "Unless you want to do something else."

"Nah...that sounds good to me."

Dinner was finished mostly in silence as the two men were both preoccupied with their own thoughts. Al was surprised that Sam ended up eating as much as he did but guessed it was because the kid was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he wasn't paying attention to how much he was eating.

When it came time to clean up, Al shooed Sam into the living room. The fact that he was still running a fever despite being on the Zithromax for a little over 24 hours was worrisome. Of course, the fact that Sam had decided not to heed Masters' advice to get rest surely hadn't helped.

The cleanup didn't take long and Al soon joined Sam in the living room. The younger man was staring at the TV screen but Al was sure that he wasn't really seeing it. Then again, he thought looking at the TV, CNN was liable to bore anyone after a while. "So, what movie's it going to be?" he asked moving over to where Sam kept his VHS movies.

"Where's the letter," Sam replied ignoring the question he'd been asked.

"What letter?" Al was of the opinion that seeing the letter would only get Sam more bent out of shape especially when he saw the envelope.

"You know what letter," Sam said giving Al a hard look. "Don't BS me and tell me you don't have it or don't know what I'm talking about. I want to see it. I have a right to see it."

"Ok, fine," Al agreed simply. "It's back in my room. I'll go get it." He went back to his room and took the letter out of the book he'd been keeping it in. He toyed with the idea of taking the letter out of the envelope but, in the end, chose not to. Sam would figure it out from reading the letter anyway.

Wordlessly, he handed the letter to Sam when he came back to the living room then sat on the armchair ready for the fireworks display that was about to come. He didn't have long to wait.

"This is addressed to me," Sam pointed out as soon as he saw the envelope.

"Yeah, it is," Al agreed quietly. There was no sense in denying what was there in black and white.

"You mind telling me why it is you have my mail?" The question was asked mildly but Al knew that mildness was deceptive. He'd experienced Sam's temper in the past and knew when he was gearing up for an explosion. This one was probably going to be a beaut.

"It was mixed in with my mail," he explained. "I didn't realize it was addressed to you until after I'd opened it."

Sam could understand that part of the explanation since it had happened in the past frequently. He looked at the date of the postmark and saw that it was over a week ago. "When did you get this and why didn't you give it to me right away?"

Al heard the edge in Sam's voice this time. They were getting closer to blast off point. "It came on Monday," he replied truthfully.

"Monday?" Sam questioned. The deceptive mildness was back again. "It came Monday and you're just getting around to giving it to me on Saturday. Why?"

"I thought," Al started to explain knowing that it wasn't going to take much to set off the first firework. "I thought I could talk to Weitzman and change his mind. When that didn't work, I wanted to find a way to cushion the blow." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Al knew they were the wrong ones. One look at Sam convinced him of that. The younger man's mouth was pressed in a thin line and his eyes had changed from hazel to a brighter shade of green as they often did when he was upset.

"You wanted to cushion the blow?" Sam got up from the couch and moved so that he was standing over where Al was sitting. "Well where the hell were you to 'cushion the blow' when my brother was killed or when my folks lost the farm. Where was that cushion when my Dad died or my sister eloped with that wife beater?" Sam was on a roll now and his anger was carrying him away. "I've gotten through a whole lot without you or anyone else to cushion anything for me so don't you dare treat me like some emotional cripple who needs to be coddled and protected from the bad stuff."

"Sam…" Al tried to cut in to get his friend to see what he meant but he wasn't given the chance.

"You said earlier that you haven't been humoring me but this," he said holding up the letter to make his point, "This tells me different. I don't want any of your lame excuses," he said when Al again tried to cut in. "I can't deal with this…with you right now." He quickly moved to his bedroom doorway. "You said you'd never lie to me," he said in a hurt voice before going in his room and slamming the door behind him.

"Saaaam…." Al called out as he heard the lock snick into place.

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Sam paced the length of his room in quick, angry steps. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so angry with Al. No matter how he wanted to explain it away, not telling him about the letter was a lie – a lie of omission – but a lie none-the-less.

From the start of their friendship the only thing he'd ever asked of the other man was honesty. He'd put his own career and reputation on the line to save Al's and all he'd asked for in return was that he never lie to him.

They'd built a relationship based on trust. That trust had helped him overcome many hurdles in the past but now he felt like that trust had been compromised. He only hoped it could be repaired.

His frantic pacing eventually slowed down and finally he sat on the edge of his bed. The letter that he was still holding he looked at once more before tossing it on the nightstand with a deep sigh. For a simple piece of paper, it sure had caused a lot of problems.

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Al fought his instinct to charge over to Sam's room as soon as the door was slammed. His intent had only been to make things easier for Sam. He never wanted or meant to betray his trust. Unwittingly, he'd done exactly that.

What Sam had said was true. He had faced a lot of difficult times in his life and he'd had to do it on his own. In Al's opinion, Sam had had to face more than he ever should have had to face. That was the reason why he wanted to shelter his friend from any more.

He'd known there was something special about Sam from the moment they'd met. Anyone else would have walked away from him and let him wallow in his bottle. Sam had not only done everything in his power to get him to beat his dependence on alcohol but he'd also put his own career on the line when Weitzman and Dr. Warren had wanted to wash him out of the Star Bright program.

Sam had barely known him then. When he asked why he'd done all that, the kid had simply said it was because he saw a great guy in him that was waiting to get out. Well, that may or may not be true but Al knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sam was a great guy no matter what.

He knew how much his friend took things to heart. How those difficult times from his past still haunted him. He'd only hoped to spare anything else from being piled on that. Instead, he'd only served to make Sam question the trust they had.

He walked over and stood just outside Sam's bedroom door. He could hear the younger man moving about in the room. Tentatively, he raised his hand to knock but dropped it down before he did. What was he going to say? He could say he was sorry but this was more than just an "I'm sorry" situation.

The only way he'd truly know what to say was to follow Sam's lead. Determined that he was going to repair any damage he'd done to Sam's trust, he raised his hand again and softly knocked on the door. "Sam? Can we talk, Buddy? Please." He held his breath unsure if the younger man would open the door to talk or not.

He heard movement approach the door then nothing. "Sam?" he questioned again.

"Not now, Al." Sam's voice came through the door muffled but he could hear the weariness and sadness in it.

"Please, Sam. We can't leave it like this," he tried. "We need to talk."

Again, there was silence before Sam's muffled voice came through again. "I can't. Not right now. Don't push me right now. Please.

This time he could hear the pleading in Sam's voice along with the hurt. In all the time he'd known Sam there were two things that could bring him up short and make it impossible not to honor his friend's request. The first was when he'd ask for something with that puppy dog look he'd mastered. Al simply had found no way to get around that.

Even without being able to see Sam, he knew that that puppy dog look wasn't on his face. Instead, he knew it was that same soul-deep hurt he'd seen in Sam's eyes before. He'd found that even harder to turn from than the puppy look. It was killing him to know that he was the cause of that look this time. "Ok, Sam," he agreed. "I'll leave you alone tonight. Just do me one favor, Kid. Please unlock the door. If you need me for anything tonight, I need to know I can get in there."

At first, Al's request was greeted with silence then he heard the soft snick as the lock was turned. Sam may not be willing to talk to him right now but at least he wasn't trying to cut himself off completely. "Thank you, Sam. I'll leave you alone now, Kid, but if you need anything, I'll be right out here." He waited a few more seconds to see if there'd be any response from Sam. When there wasn't, he went over to the one of the couches and sat down. He knew he'd be spending the night right there.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After unlocking the door, Sam stood there with his hand on the doorknob. He couldn't decide if he wanted to open the door and talk with Al or if he wanted to put it off. On the one hand, he knew something like this shouldn't be put off because it would only fester. On the other hand, he knew that words said in haste could only cause even more problems then already existed. He finally took his hand from the doorknob deciding to put off talking with Al at least until the morning.

It was still early – much too early to even think of going to bed. He picked up the book he'd been reading but just as quickly put it down. He knew there'd be no way he could concentrate enough to read.

He sat down on the bed and bunched the pillows up behind him. He picked up the little used TV remote from the nightstand and turned on the TV that was across the room on the dresser. After fishing around, he found an old movie that he vaguely remembered seeing when he was a kid and left it on.

The movie ended and another started. He left it on as well. He was only half watching the TV. His thoughts were really on what he'd have to do to convince the psychiatrist that he was sane and perfectly capable of continuing on with the project and, more importantly, he couldn't get his mind off the argument with Al.

He remembered something his mother always used to say – when it rains, it pours. Well, he felt like he was being poured on right now. He'd hoped that his luck would change when the New Year started. It seemed like things were still going caca – just doing it in a completely different way.

Eventually, he began to get weary and gave in to his tiredness, turning off the light and getting under the covers. Despite feeling sleepy, it was still a while before he finally fell asleep.

When he finally did sleep, it was anything but restful. The worries that had been plaguing him while awake followed him into dreamland and he restlessly tossed and turned. When the nightmare started, he began to moan and thrash.

_They were coming for him. The shrink claimed to have irrefutable evidence that he was crazy and everyone had believed him. Now they were going to cart him off to the loony bin. Well, he wasn't going to go willingly, that was for sure._

_He started to run but out of nowhere, a wall sprang up in front of him cutting off his escape. He turned around to see that his pursuers had caught up with him, the faceless psychiatrist in the lead. With his back against wall, he began to repeat over and over, "I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy," but it did no good. Two of the psychiatrist's henchmen wrestled him to the ground and then he came at him with a straitjacket. He did his best to fight it off but he was out-numbered and soon the straitjacket stopped him from fighting anymore. As the last buckle on it was pulled into place, Sam looked up into the face of the psychiatrist, seeing it for the first time. When he did, it ripped a raw, panicked filled scream from his throat because the face he saw was the face of his best friend._

"_Face it Sam," Al sneered at him, "I've thought you were crazy the whole time. I was just humoring you until we could make sure you'd go someplace where you couldn't hurt anyone. Now we're gonna take you to a place that has lots of cushions."_

"_No, Al. No," Sam screamed. "Let me go. Let me go. I'm not crazy! I'm not!" He fought against the straitjacket but with it on, he couldn't move his arms. Finally, he sagged back in defeat. "I trusted you," he said sorrowfully looking up at the sneering face of the man he used to call friend. "I trusted you."_

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At the first yell from Sam, Al was up off the couch like a shot. He'd only dropped off to sleep a little while before himself and it hadn't been a very deep sleep. He ran over to Sam's bedroom door but stopped short of going in. Any other time he would have without a second thought. Tonight, though, he stopped and knocked first. "Sam, you ok Buddy?" he called out. The only answer to his question was more shouts from Sam.

Not waiting any longer, Al pushed through the door and ran over to the bed. He paused long enough to switch on the small, bedside lamp. In the light, he could see Sam thrashing on the bed. The blankets were wrapped tightly around his body prohibiting him from moving his arms. As he bent down to loosen the blankets, Sam's next words stopped him. "I trusted you, Al, but you think I'm crazy."

"Oh Sam," he said softly hearing the words. It was bad enough when other things haunted Sam's sleep but knowing that this time it was he cut him to the core. Again he bent over and to pull the blankets from around Sam and called to him. "C'mon, Kid, it's ok. You just need to wake up. C'mon, Sam, wake up," he begged when the nightmare continued.

He finally succeeded in loosening the blanket from around Sam and pushed it off to the side. When he did, the younger man jack knifed up, his eyes open wide. "It's ok, Sam," Al reassured when saw Sam's eyes open.

When Sam saw Al in front of him, he quickly pushed away to the other side of the bed. "No! Don't!" he cried out, fear still in his voice.

Al slowly sat down on the edge of the bed to be on the same level as the frightened man. He extended his hand to rest it on Sam's shoulder but pulled it back when he saw Sam flinch away. "It's just a dream, Sam," he said slowly seeking to reassure his friend once more. "You're awake now and you're safe." He chanced reaching a hand out again and this time Sam allowed him to rest it on his shoulder.

"Ju…just a dream," Sam stuttered. He blinked quickly a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Yeah," Al agreed nodding slowly. "You were just dreaming." When it seemed like Sam was finally coming loose from the nightmare's clutches, he pressed him about what it was. "You wanna talk about it? It sounded like it was one heck of a beaut." There were times in the past when Sam refused to talk about his bad dreams. Al hoped that this wasn't going to be one of those times. He had a feeling he knew what the cause was and knew it wouldn't do Sam the least bit of good to internalize it.

"They were…um…" Sam began before stopping. He looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. Licking his lips, he looked back up and started speaking again. "They were chasing me because they said I was crazy and they…uh…they had to lock me away so I wouldn't hurt anyone." His voice was a low monotone and he wouldn't meet Al's eyes. "There was a strait jacket and I could feel it."

"That was the blanket," Al explained gently. "It got all twisted around you so you couldn't move." His heart ached at how much this was costing Sam right now. He looked so lost and scared. It felt like a knife going through his heart when Sam looked directly at him and spoke his next words.

"You were there," Sam said in the same monotone. "You were the psychiatrist who put the straitjacket on me. You said I'd be taken to a place with lots of cushions."

Al squeezed his eyes shut at Sam's words. "Oh, Sammy," he whispered, "what have I done to you?" He opened his eyes back up and looked at this friend. There'd be time for his guilt later. Right now, he had to take care of the man in front of him.

He grasped Sam by both shoulders and felt the trembling of his body. "I'm so sorry, Kid. I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe, that's all. You've been through so much…too much. I just didn't want there to be anything else."

Sam didn't say anything but at least he wasn't pushing away and was listening. Unfortunately, he was also shaking even more. "I should have told you about the letter right from the beginning. I know that now, Sam. I was wrong – dead wrong and now you're the one suffering because of it. How do I even ask you to forgive me for this one?"

Sam looked at Al, his eyes wide. "I'll forgive you," he whispered. "I want to trust you."

Al took a deep breath. "Good, Sam. I want you to."

Why did you lie to me?" Sam asked in the same lost voice.

Al couldn't believe how trying to be helpful had backfired so badly, but he didn't want jeopardize anything with Sam. "I thought there was time to fix things."

"Fix things? What did you have to fix?"

"Well, the situation. I really thought I could make this go away." He looked down. "I wasn't successful."

"Dirt doesn't go away when you sweep it under the carpet," Sam said with a sigh. "It just stays dirty." He looked up and when he saw the quizzical look on his friend's face added, "That's what Mom always told us."

"Well, I was thinking more like having that nozzle suck the dirt back into him."

That elicited a small, half smile from Sam. "I don't think it works that way." He tilted his head down again looking away from Al. "I'm sorry that I made you the psychiatrist."

"It wasn't you, Kid. It was your feelings." Al felt even worse speaking the truth of the situation. "You felt I'd betrayed you." He looked up. "I never would do that, Sam. You gotta believe I'll be here as your right hand man."

"I do believe that. I know you were only trying to help and I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It's not your fault what happened to Dad and Tom. You didn't even know me then." Sam shrugged and looked anywhere but at his friend. "I guess I just over reacted or something 'cause so much is going on."

"You're ill again, Sam," Al explained as he rubbed up and down his friend's arm. He could feel that he was still trembling slightly although it wasn't as much as earlier. "If there's one thing that can make you overreact, that'll do it." He hastened to add, "Although on this one, I think I gave you a little more fuel for the fire than usual."

"The next couple of weeks aren't going to be a whole lot of fun," Sam pointed out. "I keep over reacting like this and I really am going to need a psychiatrist because I am going to go crazy."

"We'll get through it, Kid. Anything I can do to help, you know I'll do."

Sam nodded slightly then looked up at Al. "Don't suppose you'd get me some more of that warm milk, would you?"

Al smiled. "You got it Kid. Give me a minute." Al got up and headed toward the door. "You want just milk or do you want chocolate in it."

"Surprise me," Sam answered with a smile of his own.

Al laughed. "Ok, Kid." He padded out into the kitchen and pulled out the pot and milk, getting it heated. He decided to make two cups...one with chocolate, the other without. Then he'd just let Sam choose.

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While he waited for Al to come back, Sam lay back down. He did his best to put the dream and its causes from his mind but it was still there niggling at the back of his mind. He knew he'd be able to put the argument with Al behind him. Saying he didn't trust him anymore had been more a heat of the moment thing than how he actually felt. In the end, he knew he'd always be able to trust Al. It was the rest of it that he wasn't able to forget right away. Even if it was just the blanket that he'd been tangled in, the idea of not being able to move frightened him and the idea of being locked away somewhere frightened him even more.

Taking the two steaming mugs back with him, Al asked Sam. "Which do you want?"

"I don't care," Sam replied pushing up wearily to sit once more. "You can pick."

Al, as much as he liked chocolate, decided to hand that to Sam and gauge his response. "Here you go, Kid."

Sam accepted the mug and looked inside it. He saw that the liquid was tinged a brownish color - not what he'd been expecting. "This isn't milk," he said looking up questioningly at Al.

"It's hot chocolate; would you rather just have warm milk?"

"Yes, please," Sam answered with a nod holding out the mug with chocolate to his friend.

Al took the hot chocolate and immediately handed the mug with the milk to Sam. "Here you go."

"Thank you," Sam said in a subdued voice as he took the mug. He sipped at the milk slowly. It felt like his body was finally starting to stop shaking. He'd emptied the mug of half its contents when a jaw-breaking yawn escaped him. "I'm tired," he stated although that was probably clear to Al.

"I'll bet," answered his friend. Now that Sam and he were back on track, Al figured he could probably sleep in his bed. Sam still had the cowbell to call him. "You going to be ok?"

Sam answered Al's question with one of his own. "What if it happens again? I can't control what I dream but I don't want that to happen again."

Al revised his plan. "Sam, I'll be right outside. I hear anything, I'll be right here."

"No," Sam quickly disagreed. "You go to bed. I just won't sleep, that's all." As fast as he said the words, another yawn escaped him and he raised his hand to rub his eyes sleepily.

"Then you won't be doing what the doctor said you needed to do," reasoned Al.

"Yeah, well, he didn't know anything about this." Sam waved Al in the direction of the door. "Go on and go to bed. I'll be ok." He offered his friend a small, reassuring smile. "Really, I'll be ok."

Al figured that he'd go to his room but as soon as Sam was asleep, he'd move back to the living room. "Ok, Sam, but try to get to sleep."

"I'll try," Sam agreed although he didn't intend to do so. He watched as Al left the room and began to shut the door behind him. "No, don't close it," he called out knowing that there was desperation in his voice. He didn't care, though. He knew he likely wouldn't sleep much tonight. If the door was closed and he was cut off, he could almost guarantee he'd get no sleep.

Al left the door open. He knew for certain he wouldn't spend the night down the hall. The emotion in the kid's voice was high and he was sure that there might be more problems.

Sam lay down after Al left the room. He started to pull the covers over his body but hesitated then pushed them away. He wasn't up to another go round with them yet and decided he'd rather be cold. He pulled himself into as tight a ball as he could and stared resolutely at the clock on the bedside table willing it change, willing the sun to rise. It was only a little after two in the morning. There was going to be a lot of time before the sun started to rise. "Al," he called out tentatively when he felt his eyes start to drift shut. Despite what his friend had said, he was willing to bet he was in the living room and hadn't gone to his bedroom.

He waited a moment for his friend to reappear. When he didn't, he sighed. Maybe he really didn't know Al as well as he did. He'd been sure he'd stay out in the living room but it

He lay very still straining to hear anything but all was quiet. With a sigh, he turned off the light on the bedside table but just as quickly turned it back on.

He considered calling out to Al again but just as quickly clamped his mouth shut. It was ridiculous. Here he was a grown man too afraid to stay in his room by himself because he'd had a bad dream. He was too old to be afraid that the boogieman was going to come and snatch him in the night. What he had to do was turn off the light, pull up the covers, and go to sleep. It was as simple as that. What he did was to lie there shivering with the covers pushed to the side and the light on.

It wasn't long before he e thought he heard movement just outside his bedroom and guessed that it must be Al. "Please come in," he started to repeat softly to himself over and over.

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Al had gone back to his bedroom and retrieved blankets and a pillow. He padded back into the living room and got set up. He found himself fully awake, listening for the slightest disturbance in Sam's room.

He noticed the light going out in Sam's room and started to let his guard down just a bit only to have it rekindled as it came on again. He thought to himself, _Doesn't mean anything. He might have just forgotten something_. He waited to see if anything else happened.

He lay on the couch waiting to see what Sam would do. The light stayed on. He watched the door for a while, waiting for, well, something to happen. After a good five minutes, he padded to the door to listen a little closer. He was worried about Sam but didn't want him to think he was hovering.

He waited for what seemed an eternity, but was likely only a few minutes. When the light continued to stay on, he popped his head in the room only to see Sam lying in the middle of the bed, scrunched up without his covers over him. "Sam? What's going on?" he asked moving closer, sure the kid must be cold or sporting a fever again.

Relief flood through Sam when he heard Al come into the room. It was quickly followed by embarrassment that the man's presence brought him that relief. "Nothing," mumbled into the pillow.

Al moved quickly over to Sam. He reached his hand out to feel his forehead. Finding the kid cold and not feverish, he started to pull the covers up. "You must be freezing."

"I'm not cold," Sam lied trying to stop Al from pulling the covers over him. "They're too messy," he complained.

"I'll get them straightened." Al noticed the goose bumps on Sam's skin. "You look cold, Kid."

"I'm not," Sam again denied. He watched as Al moved around the bed straightening out the covers from the disarray they were in and re-tucking them down the bottom of the bed where they'd come loose. "You don't have to."

"You'll sleep better if the covers are neat," Al reasoned.

"I don't want to sleep," Sam said softly. When Al pulled the covers over him, he pushed them down so they came no higher than his waist even though what he really wanted to do was pull them up over his head and burrow under them until he didn't feel quite as cold.

"Sam, the doctor said you need rest." He wondered if the dream the kid had was still bothering him. Al knew how frightening dreams could be. "Are you afraid to go back to sleep?"

Sam looked away from his friend but nodded slightly. He could feel his face coloring in embarrassment to be admitting that. Right now, he wouldn't have blamed Al if he got on the phone and told Weitzman he was too looney to work on the project. He was almost tempted to do it himself.

"I understand how you might be. I've had dreams keep me awake as well."

"It's stupid," Sam said pounding his fist lightly against the mattress. "I shouldn't be afraid of a stupid dream. I'm acting like a little kid."

Al patted Sam gently on the shoulder. "Trust me, Kid. I know how scary dreams can be. You're not acting like a little kid."

"So what do you do?" Sam asked looking up at his friend with wide eyes. "How do you make it go away?"

"Different things work for different people."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Sam rolled away from Al thinking that he didn't want to help. He couldn't blame him. He hadn't been very kind to his friend tonight. "It's ok. I'll figure something out." There was always the option of just staying awake. At least then, the dream wouldn't have a chance to come back.

Al took a deep breath. Sam needed more than what he'd said. By not saying anything else, the Kid thought he was pulling away from him or refusing him the help he sought but didn't know how to ask for. "For awhile, for me, it was the booze. You saw how well that worked long term. Eventually I just learned to deal with them."

Sam was quiet for a moment digesting what Al had told him. This wasn't the first time he'd been bothered by dreams and he doubted it would be the last time. Still, he'd never really figured out what to do when they happened. "I guess I've never been any good at dealing with them," he said through a yawn. The warmth of blankets over his body and the security of having his friend in the room with him were conspiring to prevent him from carrying through on his idea just to stay awake all night.

Al noticed that Sam's eyelids were growing heavy. "Go on to sleep, Kid. I'll be here if you need me."

"You'll stay here?" Sam asked sleepily. Suddenly he didn't care if his question did make him sound like he was 7 instead of 37. He was tired, he still wasn't feeling well, the dream had really set him on edge, and, quite frankly, the thought that he had to have surgery wasn't doing anything to soothe him even if he hadn't mentioned anything about it to Al. Routine surgery or not, just the idea of it wasn't giving him a very secure feeling. At least every other time in the past that he'd had surgery it had been an emergency where he was either unconscious and didn't know about it until after the fact or he just didn't have time to worry. This time, he had a whole lot of time to think about everything that could go wrong. Considering he was a medical doctor, he pretty much knew what the entire list of things that could go wrong was.

Again, Al rubbed slowly up and down Sam's arm. He had a feeling there was more going on than just bad dreams. "Yeah, Kid. I'm just going to step out of the room for a minute. Be right back." He went out and retrieved his blanket. He figured he could take one of the chairs in Sam's room for the night. Not the most comfortable, but he'd be right there for Sam.

"What'cha doing with that?" Sam asked when Al came back in with the blanket.

"I'm going to sit in this chair," he said, settling in.

"But that's not comfortable. You can't sleep there."

"Of course I can. I've done it before, I can do it again."

Sam was torn. On the one hand, if Al slept in the chair that meant he was close by. On the other, it wasn't fair to him to be so uncomfortable all night. His need for reassurance warred with his need not to be responsible for Al being uncomfortable. "No," he disagreed, the responsible part of him winning, "you can't stay there all night."

"Sam," Al chastised gently. "You asked that I agree to let you make choices for yourself. It goes both ways." He paused when it looked like Sam was going to argue with him about it. "You just said that the dream you had is giving you problems with sleeping. I'm not going to get any sleep if you don't. This way, we can both get some rest."

"Not very good sleep." Coming to a decision, Sam threw off the covers, got out of bed and padded to the master bath. After rummaging in the medicine cabinet, he filled a glass with water. When he came out of the bathroom, he had the water and a pill bottle in hand. "I'll just take one of these," he said holding the pill bottle so Al could see it. "It'll knock me out and you won't have to worry." He wasn't fond of using drugs of any kind unless it was absolutely necessary. Right now, this was looking like one of those times.

"You sure?"

Sam uncapped the bottle as he sat down on the side of the bed. He'd been prescribed the Diazepam at the end of December to counteract the reaction he'd had to the antibiotic he'd been taking then. Most of the pills were still in the bottle since he'd taken the barest minimum he'd needed to counteract the agitated feeling he had at the time. Resolutely he shook one of the pills out into his hand. "You got any better ideas?" he asked his friend.

Al rubbed his face. "I don't know, Sam. All I know is you gotta rest."

"Well, you do too and that's not going to happen with you in that chair." Before he could change his mind, Sam put the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with some water. "Can you just stay in here until it starts to work?" He wasn't able to meet his friend's eyes when he asked.

Al walked back over from the sitting area to where Sam was still sitting on the side of his bed. "Of course I'll stay with you 'til you go to sleep." He took the glass from Sam's hand and put it down on the bedside table then urged his friend to lie back down. When he pulled the covers up this time, he didn't tuck them in but made sure they just covered his friend loosely. "Close your eyes and just relax, Kid," he said lowly.

Sam heeded his friend's advice. As his eyes fell shut, he felt the side of the bed dip lower and assumed that Al had sat down there. The idea was confirmed when Al's warm hand once again rested on his shoulder. His friend began to talk quietly to him while rubbing up and down his arm. The familiarity of Al's smoke-roughed, gravelly voice combined with the sedative properties of the Diazepam and soon he couldn't fight the need for sleep anymore.

Once Sam was asleep, Al took the blanket back to the living room. He didn't think the kid would wake having taken the pill, but you never knew how things would play out. It was better to be vigilant and not be needed than to miss something important. He lay down, got settled and was soon in dreamland himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The sun was shining brightly through the sliding doors in the bedroom when Sam next woke. He was still feeling a little groggy from the diazepam he'd taken but knew that the feeling would soon wear off. A quick look at the bedside clock showed that it was nearly 9:00.

He pushed back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed then pushed to his feet. After a stop in the bathroom, he left his room stepping out into the living room. He wasn't surprised to see Al asleep on the couch.

Moving quietly across the room, he bent down over his friend and shook his shoulder gently. "Al? It's getting late, Al."

"Huh?" asked Al, pulled from his dream. He focused and saw Sam beside him. "Oh, it's you, Sam." With a yawn, he asked. "What time is it?"

"It's almost 9:00." Seeing Al yawn, Sam reflexively did the same thing. "I guess neither one of us had a very good night last night."

"No. I guess that's fair to say." Al looked at the kid, trying to ascertain how he was this morning. "How are you feeling? Any more bad dreams?"

"I don't think I had any dreams," Sam replied answering Al's last question first then rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm still feeling kind of groggy but better. I think the Zithromax is really working."

"Good." With another yawn, Al said, "Hey, what say we go out for breakfast this morning?"

"Out? You wanna go out for breakfast?" Sam wasn't keen on the idea. There was too much that had happened the previous night and too much that had been left unspoken. A restaurant was not the ideal place to discuss the previous night. It occurred to Sam that perhaps Al wanted to put what had happened behind them and forget about it. If that's what his friend wanted, he could try to do the same. "Um, sure. We can go out. Where do you want to go?"

"I was thinking the coffee shop on the square. I really like their huevos rancheros."

"That sounds good." Sam looked down at himself then up at Al. "I guess I should go get dressed."

"Same here, Kid." He got up and started back to the room where he was staying with the bedding. "By the way, my treat."

"Sure,." Sam started back to his bedroom. He stopped when he got to the door and turned back. "Al," he called after his friend as he walked up the hallway.

"Yeah, Sam?" Al asked stopping and turning back.

When Al turned around, Sam quickly rethought what he was going to say. "Uh...thanks for breakfast," he settled for instead.

"Sure." Al turned and continued into the guest bath. He quickly showered. As he did, he thought about the night before. He figured that dredging things up wouldn't help but neither would sweeping them under the rug. Instead, he'd just play it by ear with Sam. He again mentally kicked himself for having the situation backfire as badly as it had. He really had thought he'd be able to get Weitzman to change his mind and how would it help Sam to know that the nozzle was also a snake n the grass.

He turned off the water and went into his room to get dressed. He got ready quickly, choosing what, for him, was a more subdued outfit than usual.

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When Sam finished with his shower and returned to the living room, Al was already there waiting for him. He'd been expecting that since he'd taken longer in the shower than usual. He'd been trying to figure out just how and when he should broach the subject of what had happened the previous night. "You playing grown up today?" he asked with forced cheerfulness when he saw how Al was dressed.

"Just didn't feel like lime green and lemon yellow fit my mood today."

"Yeah, I guess it's not a lime green kinda day," Sam agreed in a thoughtful voice. Though he wasn't exactly a trendy dresser, he realized that his own choice of clothing - black jeans and a dark gray shirt - were a little out of character for him as well.

Al nodded. "Let's go." As he walked towards the door he noted, "This isn't a bad time to go. We'll miss the after church crowd."

"You want your coat?" Sam asked as Al started to walk toward the garage door. He went out to the coat closet in the front foyer to get his.

"Sure," Al said. He was somewhat lost in thought and hadn't even considered getting it..

Sam took the two coats out of the closet. He put his hand into the pocket of his coat looking for his keys but they weren't in there and he remembered that Al had had the keys and done the driving yesterday. As he handed Al his coat he asked, "Where'd you put my keys yesterday?"

Al smiled. "It's a good thing you got my coat." He checked the pocket and pulled out the keys. "We wouldn't have gotten too far."

"No, guess we wouldn't." Sam took the keys from Al and went through the door to the garage. He unlocked the passenger door then went around to the driver's side unlocking it and getting in. "Did you want to do anymore car shopping after breakfast?" he asked once Al was in the Jeep.

Al shook his head. "No. I'm going to let Frank take the lead on that, at least for this week. Afterwards, we'll see."

"Do you want to do anything else after breakfast then?" Sam triggered the garage door opener and once the door was high enough backed out then lowered the door.

Al shook his head. "You seemed pretty focused on that idea you had yesterday. You gonna let me in on what all that writing was about?"

Sam's first instinct was to put off sharing what he'd been working on again but decided that having Al's input might not be such a bad idea. After all, trust went both ways. "Sure, when we get back I'll show it to you. I'm still not sure how feasible it is. Your input's probably a good idea."

"Sam, most people wouldn't think time travel is feasible. Your work shows beyond a shadow of a doubt that theoretically it is. I'm sure that whatever you're working on has a practical application."

Sam thought about what he'd been working on and what anyone, even Al, might think about it. "I'm not sure you're going to be saying that once you see it. It's really...out there."

"Out there is what moves the human race forward. Look at all the things people said were 'out there' when H.G. Wells or Jules Verne wrote about them. Now they're common place."

"Can I hold you to that once you've read it?" Sam wasn't sure Al would be quite so forward thinking once he saw how he could end up involved in what he'd been trying to figure out yesterday.

Al listened to the uncertainty in Sam's voice and slightly amended his statement. "Kid, I'll give you an honest assessment and that includes any critique as to current feasibility of an idea. I mean, even warp engines might be possible someday, but not now."

"Warp engines...what is it with you and speed or have you been watching Star Trek again?"

"All I'm saying, Sam, is that you're hedging your bets with me, warning me about how out there the ideas might be and whether I'll still be willing to look at them reasonably." He paused. "I'm not Weitzman, you know. I actually believe that that noggin of yours comes out with some pretty incredible and feasible ideas."

"I know you're not Weitzman. I wasn't implying that," Sam snapped. He took a deep breath pushing aside the momentary anger he felt flare up knowing it was a leftover from the previous night. "I was just saying that if I'm not sure this idea makes any sense, then it's only fair to think that you might not think it makes any sense either. That's all."

Al was a bit taken back by Sam's sudden flare up. He put up his hands in a defensive position. "Ok, Kid. Point taken."

"How 'bout if we just forget about it 'til after breakfast," Sam suggested. They were nearing the coffee shop Al had suggested they have breakfast at and he began to look for a parking space. "Darn," he hissed hitting the steering wheel lightly. When he saw Al look at him questioningly he explained, "I left the house without taking the Zithromax."

"Will it be a problem if you miss it until we get back?"

"No, it's not a problem. I just like to try to take it at the same time so I don't forget it. It's just easier that way."

"Ok. I'll remind you when we get back to the house."

"Thanks." Sam found a parking space that wasn't too far from the coffee shop but not very close either and pulled into it. "Looks like it might be a little busier than you thought it was going to be."

"Well, Lola does make a mean breakfast."

The two men got out of the Jeep and started walking in the direction of the coffee shop. As they neared it, they could see the crowd of people through the window. "Lola might make a mean breakfast but it might be closer to lunch by the time we get served. You wanna just get some bagels and coffee for take out?"

Al shook his head. "It's ok, Sam. We'll get a table."

"Ok," Sam agreed. "If you want to wait, we can wait."

The two men walked into the coffee shop. One of the waitresses came up to Al. "Hi Allie. I see your leg's ok again. You know I expect a call."

"Of course, Bridget. How long you think the wait will be?"

"For you Allie, I've got a special table. Should be ready in about five."

"Thanks!"

Sam watched as the waitress walked away. "Is there a woman anywhere that you don't know?" he asked in wonder.

"Not many," Al quipped. "At least, not cute ones."

"You know, I'd say you're incorrigible but if it's going to get us a table faster, I won't complain this time."

Al just smiled. He nodded in the direction of a tall dark woman also waiting to be seated. "Hey, I've never seen her around. You recognize her?"

Sam looked at the woman in question. "No, I don't think I know her but I'm not the one you should be asking." He turned to Al smiling. "I thought you were the one who kept track of every female in a 15 miles radius."

"I just said, I've never seen her before." He thought for a moment. "Maybe she's a new professor at NMT or a scientist for the Very Large Array."

"Or maybe she's just passing through, or visiting someone. Would you give it a rest, Al. You don't need to have first hand knowledge of every female between here and Albuquerque and would you stop staring at her. Geez, didn't anyone teach you any manners?"

"Yeah. The nuns. I didn't listen much."

"Well, you might have thought about listening to them a little more." Before Sam could scold his friend anymore, Bridget came over, told them that their table was ready, and led them over to it.

"Sam, I'm just interested, ok? I mean, Socorro isn't exactly the big city, if you know what I mean. It's good to know about who people are, you know?

Sam accepted a paper menu from the Bridget and thanked her then turned to his friend. "Did you ever think that some people might think that your knowing who they are might cross over into invading their privacy or something? And the only reason why you're interested in who she is..." Sam trailed off when he saw the woman being led over and seated at a table near to where they were sitting. "The only reason you're interested in who she is," he repeated with his voice pitched low so that it wouldn't carry past his friend's ears, "is because she's an attractive woman. Otherwise, I doubt you'd really care."

Al looked wounded. "Sam, that's not the only reason I'm interested in women. I've worked with a number of professional women as colleagues as well. A number of the scientists at NASA were of the female persuasion."

Sam gave Al a disbelieving look. "So you're really going to tell me that if she were sitting her with you and I was the one over there you'd be just as curious about who I was. C'mon, Al. I know you too well."

Al sighed. "I wouldn't be able to convince you of that, but well, yeah...I'd wonder who you were." He got an evil grin on his face. "And it's not just because you're a pretty face." He paused. "Although, you know, you'd make a really sad looking woman."

"I don't have a pretty face," Sam quickly retorted. "It's just average and I'll keep your comment in mind if I ever decide to take up cross-dressing."

"It's a pretty face, Sam. Why do you think you got so many letters from women when that cover story appeared on Time?"

"It's not," Sam insisted, "and just leave it be." It had always discomforted him when people talked about how he looked. In his opinion, there were far too many imperfections in his appearance to qualify for handsome. He was average and that was it.

"Fine, Kid, fine."

Bridget came over. "So what can I get 'cha?"

"Huevos rancheros and coffee for me," Al said not even looking at his menu.

I'll get the pancakes and some coffee." Sam handed the menu back to Bridget. "Thanks."

"Sure." She smiled at the two of them and headed off, a smile on her face and a wiggle in her walk. "I sure like that view," Al said smiling as well.

"Aaaal," Sam chastised. "Geez. Could you grow up?"

"Could I?" He asked. "Yeah, I guess. Do I want to? No way, José."

Sam didn't respond, just shook his head. "So, you gonna come with me to that appointment on Wednesday?" he asked in a change of subject.

"Of course. You think I'd let you go to that alone? This may be minor surgery, but it's still surgery, Sam. I want to know what I can do to help out."

"From what I know about it, pump me up with painkillers and hope for the best."

"Doesn't sound like a great time."

"No, I guess not." Sam smiled his thanks when Bridget brought their coffee over to them. "Did you ever have it done?"

"What? Getting my tonsils out? I don't think so."

"Yeah." Sam ran his finger around the edge of the coffee cup. "I wish I didn't know as much as I do or I could get out of this somehow." He picked up the mug, took a sip from it, and put it down. "Ignorance is bliss."

Al looked over at his friend. "It's gonna be ok, Kid."

"I know. I guess I'm just a little freaked out by the idea." Sam started to play with the edge of the mug again. "Do you realize that other than the shoulder surgery I had, this is the only other time I've known I had to have surgery before it happened. I don't know why it's bothering me so much now. It didn't when I had my shoulder done."

Al thought about that. "Yeah. Most of the time it's been sort of 'surprise...you don't have your - body part of the day - anymore,' huh. And besides, the shoulder situation was annoying the hell out of you."

"Well, I did get some extra to," Sam pointed out. "I didn't start off life with a titanium rod in my leg. Maybe they were trying to even things out that time," he continued in an attempt at humor. "Take my spleen out but put the rod in my leg."

"Yeah." The food showed up and Bridget checked to see if they had enough coffee. Heating it up, she flashed a brilliant smile at Al.

"Thanks, Darling. You're the best," Al complimented.

"Just once," Sam said when Bridget had walked away. "Just once can we actually go out to get something to eat without you flirting with all of the waitresses?" He reached for the bottle of maple syrup on the table and poured some over his pancakes.

"What? She is the best." He nodded to the pancakes. "Nice and hot, right? The butter is just the right temperature to melt quickly, right?" Al looked down to his meal and started digging in. "It's not all flirting."

"Yeah, they're good," Sam agreed. "It's just that you…well you…oh, heck just forget about it." He dug into his meal with relish. Al was right about the coffee shop having great food and this morning, he was hungry. It seemed his body was ready to make up for the fact that he hadn't had much appetite the last couple of days – or maybe he was just building up his reserves since he knew he wouldn't want to eat anything after his tonsils were taken out.

Al gave a small chuckle and continued enjoying his meal. Things seemed to be on better footing this morning, for which he was glad. He looked over and saw the dark lady looking over at them with a slight smile on her face. Seeing that Al had seen her, she quickly looked away.

"Stop it," Sam hissed when he saw Al looking at the woman he'd pointed out earlier. He noticed that she had been looking there way as well and was tempted to go over apologize for his friend's staring.

"Stop what?" Al took a breath. "I just looked up, that's all. I'm not staring you know."

"Whatever. Just eat your breakfast."

Al shrugged and continued with his meal. The two men continued to have a conversation peppered with moments of companionable silence. As they were close to finishing, the woman, now finished with her own meal, walked over to them. "Excuse me, but I'm new here. I'm trying to find the Casa Vita apartments. Would either of you be able to help me?"

Al looked over to her. "Casa Vita? That's my complex. It's about a half mile from here." He pulled out a pen and quickly wrote the directions on a napkin. "Maybe I'll see you around the pool this summer."

She smiled. "Perhaps."

"You forgot to give her your apartment number," Sam commented after the woman had walked away.

"Would you give it a rest, Kid," Al said. "I was just being friendly."

"Ok, ok," Sam said holding his hands up defensively. "I'm sorry I said anything. Geesh. It's ok when you give me a hard time for not pursuing every woman who walks by me, though."

"What do you mean 'every woman?' It's hardly any woman."

Sam blew out a breath. "That's what I mean. You're constantly giving me a hard time for not having enough women in my life...or what you consider enough women."

"Well, you don't. Since Don..." Al stopped suddenly and backpedaled. "I mean, you're a nice guy, Sam. You deserve someone in your life."

"You can say her name," Sam said in a hard voice. "And I have gone out a few times since Donna. I just haven't found someone I want in my life. Is that a crime?" He finished the coffee in his mug and thumped it down on the table. "Besides, I'm too busy right now for anything else. It wouldn't be fair."

Al's voice grew softer. "I know you have, Kid. I was just thinking that having the right lady in your life would give you joy." He paused. "I saw how pleased you were to see your sister and Jim together. Sort of like you envied them." He paused once more. "I'd like to see you happy like that, Sam."

"Just because I'm happy for them doesn't mean I envy them. Maybe that's not the right thing for my life." Sam knew, contrary to what he was saying, that it would be the right thing for his life. He'd like nothing better than to find a woman to spend the rest of his life with and raise a family. He'd thought he'd found her but it hadn't turned out that way. Now, well, if he had to be honest, right now he wasn't making much effort because that was one pain he didn't need to experience again.

Al decided this wasn't the time to push Sam on his romantic life. "Ok, Kid. You know what's best."

"That's right, I do." Resolutely, Sam picked up the check from where Bridget had left it on the table. "If you're done, we should pay for this so they can clear the table." He pointed towards the entryway. "There are still a lot of people waiting for a table."

Al reached over to take the check from Sam. "I'm paying, remember?" He quickly pulled out his wallet and placed a sizable tip on the table. As he walked to the register, he caught Bridget's eye. "Thanks again. I'll call you."

Sam rolled his eyes as he followed behind his friend. There was a family with a baby sitting at the last table by the door. As Sam walked by, the baby dropped the stuffed animal she was playing with. He bent down and handed it to her. "Here you go, Honey."

The baby hesitantly took the rabbit from Sam then giggled and dropped it on the floor again. Again, Sam bent down to pick up the toy and handed it to the baby. Just as quickly, she dropped it again. "She's playing a game with you," the mother said. "As long as you pick it up, she'll keep dropping it."

"Oh," Sam said as he picked up the toy again. This time he handed it to the mother. "I'm not around babies much. I guess I didn't know." He smiled at the family then caught up to where Al was waiting for him just inside the door.

Al looked over at Sam. "You'd be a good father, you know that?"

Sam shrugged off Al's observation. "I just picked up the toy. That doesn't mean I'd be a good father."

Al shrugged. "It's just part of the pattern. When you were taking care of Sarah, I saw the same thing."

"Oh please." Sam nudged Al out the door following along behind him. "You saw what happened the night Katie left me alone with her. I didn't know what I was doing. I went through nearly that whole bag of diapers before I got one to stay on."

"That's just the learning curve. You also played with her while you were doing it. Sarah was smiling at you big time."

"That wasn't playing. That was panic and if she was smiling, it was probably because she waited until the diaper was off to go. She knew I didn't know what I was doing."

Al chuckled. "Sam, just face it. You're good with kids."

"If I am," he said as he unlocked the Jeep, "It's because I've gotten a lot of experience with you."

"Ha Ha," said Al with sarcasm. "You mark my words. Someday you'll be a parent and you'll be fantastic at it."

"Maybe," was Sam's non-committal answer.

So, what did you want to do today?" asked Al heading toward the Jeep.

"I don't know. I was sort of thinking since I'm feeling better that maybe we could drive back out to the project this afternoon instead of tomorrow." Sam pulled on his seatbelt and started up the Jeep. "I could make up for the time I lost on Friday."

Al nodded. "I have some paperwork on my desk I could tackle as well." He sighed. "You know," he said with a sideways glance to Sam, "The only other constant than death and taxes is paperwork."

Sam waited for a few cars to go by then eased out into traffic. "I don't know about that. There are constants in science too, you know." He drove a little ways up the road then glanced over at Al. "So, you're ok with going back today instead of tomorrow morning. I know we never really did get to relax or anything last night like we'd planned." He again glanced quickly at his friend before self-consciously putting his view firmly on the road. He was responsible in large part for how badly the previous night had gone.

Al looked at Sam with a pained expression as he mentioned the constants. He was going to rib him a little about the fact that sometimes he took things too literally when the kid brought up the night before. Instead, Al gave a weak smile. "Um, yeah. About that." He squirmed a little in his seat. "I'm really sorry about that Kid. I guess I made the wrong call but it was for what I thought were good reasons."

Sam took a breath, started to say something, and stopped. Things had one horribly wrong last night and he didn't want to push things in that direction again. He also knew that neither he nor Al could put their heads in the sand and just forget about it. If they did that, it was likely only to fester. He wasn't sure that right now was the best time to figure out where they'd both gone wrong and how to make sure it didn't happen again, though. "Not right now, Al," he finally said softly. He slanted another quick look at his friend and saw disappointment on his face that he didn't want to talk. "I know we need to talk about last night. I don't think right now's a really good time for it. We're gonna be at the house soon. We can talk then or maybe driving back to the project...just someplace where we have more time."

Al nodded. He'd learned to read Sam over the years. There were times he needed to push a bit and times he needed to wait until Sam was ready. Although the kid had started to bring up the issue, this was one of the latter times. "Ok, Sam."

There was silence in the Jeep until they were almost at the house. "Maybe," Sam began tentatively having second thoughts about his earlier suggestion, "it's not such a good idea to go back today...at least not yet...not 'til we settle things. I really don't know how much I could concentrate right now."

Al looked over to the kid. He figured the situation must have really been bothering him. "Yeah," was all the older man said, wanting to give Sam the chance to speak his mind.

"I just don't think..." Sam began to say before having to swerve the Jeep to the right and brake hard. "You ok," he asked looking over to Al. "What is it with these deer this weekend?" he asked as he watched the animal in question run off. It was the second time in just over two days that they'd almost had a collision with one of the animals and Sam was beginning to wonder if they were trying to tell him something.

Al had been taken by surprise when Sam swerved. Fortunately, he'd been wearing his seatbelt. "I'm ok," he answered. "It's getting close to spring. They're probably just looking for food.

"They're not going to find any on my front bumper," Sam replied. He was much more cautious the rest of the drive home in case another of the animals decided to pop out in front.

Al nodded but didn't say anything until they got to the house. He was still waiting for Sam to broach the subject again. He knew he just had to wait. The kid wasn't one to keep stuff bottled up forever.

"I think I'm going to make some tea," Sam said as they walked in the house. "You want me to make you some coffee or something?" For some reason, he had it in his mind that if they had the comfort of warm drinks; it would make rehashing the previous night easier.

"Coffee would be nice, Sam." He watched as the kid headed to the cabinets to collect the teabags. "Remember, you wanted to take your meds too. You forgot them at the restaurant," he reminded him.

"Oh, yeah, thanks." Sam put the tea bags down and grabbed the package of Zithromax from where he'd left it on the counter and pushed one of the remaining pills out of the blister. "Is instant ok," he asked after he'd swallowed the pill, "or do you want me to make you a pot." Thinking of how badly his coffee usually came out and how Al always teased him, he added, "maybe you'd better stick with the instant."

Al laughed. "Maybe I should just make it myself."

Sam also laughed although there was an undercurrent of nervousness in it. "That might not be a bad idea."

Al noted Sam's nervousness and gave a smile to put him at ease. "Yeah." He went over to the Mr. Coffee and started putting things together to make a small pot. Once it was brewing, he went over to the cabinet and pulled out some cookies - the chocolate ones that Sam usually favored. Putting them on the table, he went back to the coffee maker and poured out a cup, going to the table to sit down.

When the water boiled, Sam poured his cup of tea then brought it over to the table and sat opposite Al. He decided the best course of action was just to dive right in. "About last night...I know I said some hurtful things to you that I shouldn't have and I'm sorry. I know you weren't trying to do anything to deceive me. I guess I was just angry last night and I've got a lot on my mind right now so I just lashed out at you. I shouldn't have done that." Before Al could say anything in response, he took a deep breath and continued. "That doesn't mean what you did was right either."

Al looked down into his coffee mug. "As I said before, I felt my reasons were good ones. If I was able to fix this before you learned about it, you wouldn't have even had to know about it and then it would have caused you less stress."

"I know that and I understand." Sam cradled the mug of tea in his hands but didn't drink from it. "That's the problem, though. You wanted to hide it from me when it's something I should have known about no matter what stress is involved. I feel like since you thought you had to hide it from me that you didn't think I could handle it rationally."

Al sighed. "It had nothing to do with your ability to handle the stress rationally. It had to do with not wanting that nozzle to hurt you with his pettiness."

"But you still chose to keep it from me," Sam pointed out struggling to remain calm and rational. "You chose not to give me that letter even though it was addressed to me." He took a sip from the tea trying to find a way to explain how he was feeling. "What if," he began trying a different track, "a letter to me from the bank got mixed up with your mail, you opened it and you saw that the bank was going to foreclose on the house 'cause I'd missed a few mortgage payments. Would you have waited to tell me about it until the sheriff showed up at my front door to remove me?"

"No. That would be different."

"How? How would that be different?" Sam pressed. "Don't you think that would be just as stressful or maybe even more stressful since I'd be finding myself homeless?"

"No, I don't," Al answered. As Sam started to respond, the older man explained. "If you chose to not deal with your mortgage and lost your house that would be your choice. Weitzman's actions are based in his overblown ego and are totally unfair and asinine. That's not your fault and if I can do anything about it, I'm going to."

"I can't keep going in this circle," Sam muttered wiping his hand across his face. "I have tried to explain this to you so many times. I've asked and all but begged you but you don't seem to listen to me. You need to stop making my decisions for me. I don't care why Weitzman's doing what he's doing. He's had it out for me for a long time now so it's no surprise. I've got enough on my plate to worry about. I don't need to add wondering what you're hiding from me and how it's gonna come back to bite me on the butt when you can't just make it go away."

Al started to respond and stopped. He knew on the one hand that Sam was right. He was a grown man and he had the right to know what was going on. On the other hand, the kid had, in Al's opinion, dealt with more painful situations than most. Was it so wrong to want to prevent him from having to deal with things that would, he felt, sting his sensitive soul? He knew from experience that the kid felt things keenly. He took a deep breath. "I don't know what to say, Kid.

"Just tell me you won't do it again," Sam said softly. "You're not a magician, Al. You can't make things disappear. What were you going to do tomorrow? Lock me in my office so this psychiatrist - do we even know his name - couldn't get to me?"

"No. I told you, I was going to tell you the other day when I came to your office. Once I knew there wasn't any other option, I was going to inform you fully of everything I knew. Only finding out you had strep again kept me from doing it then." He paused. "Besides, the psychiatrist isn't coming until Tuesday." He added. "I have no idea who the psychiatrist is, but knowing Weitzman, I'm sure he's a nozzle."

"So let me see if I've got this straight," Sam said in a deceptively mild voice. "If you find out some bad news I should know and I'm in a good mood, then you'll tell me but if anything's going wrong, you won't tell. So, if you were to get a call that something happened to my mother and I had the sniffles, you just wouldn't tell me until after the fact. Does that about sum it up?" As he finished speaking, his voice took on the hard edge it had had the previous night.

"Come on, Sam, you have to know me better than that. Your family is a totally different thing. I wouldn't hold back that type of news from you."

"It's not different. It's all a part of my life...a life I don't seem to get to make any decisions in anymore. You make the decisions, Weitzman does, the committee...hell, even Dr. Masters gets to make decisions that I don't get to make." He got up from the table and started to pace and talk to himself. "No one ever asks me. Ooops, there's a shrink coming - better hide the news from Sam so he doesn't go bonkers. Sam's sick again, let's just make an appointment with a surgeon and rip out more of his body." He turned around to face Al and leaned back against the sink. "When do I get to make any of the decisions, huh? Should I consider myself lucky I get to pick out what pair of socks I put on in the morning?"

"Sam, you're overanalyzing this. You make almost all the decisions for your life. There's hardly anything that I try to handle without letting you know and those things are issues that you shouldn't have to deal with."

Sam just stared at Al in silence for a few minutes trying to understand how the man couldn't understand what he was saying. Spying the car keys where he'd left them on the island, he grabbed them. "We're getting no where fast and I really don't feel like having the same argument again. I'm going for a drive." As he walked out the kitchen door he tossed over his shoulder, "Maybe I'll do a little deer hunting while I'm out."

"Sam..." Al started. At the look the kid gave him, he put up his hands. "Ok, Sam. Do what you have to do." He wasn't sure it really was a good idea to let Sam drive the car in the mood he was in, but he knew all to well that this was one of the times he shouldn't push him.

Although he heard Al calling after him, Sam didn't slow his stride. He went through the laundry room into the garage, slamming the door as he went out. He hadn't locked the door to the Jeep and he pulled it open and got in. It took two tries before he was able to get the key in the ignition and when he did, he didn't turn it. Instead, he crossed his arms over the steering wheel and leaned his head on them. "This is why he never tells you," he said to himself. Instead of dealing rationally with what had happened the previous night, he'd overreacted again, this time storming out of the house.

He pulled the key from the ignition and slowly got out of the Jeep. If he ever wanted to reach a point where Al didn't feel the need to shelter him that meant dealing with things rationally now, not running away, not giving in to anger, and not over reacting.

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Al watched as Sam stormed out. He swallowed and closed his eyes. The kid was fit to be tied, that was for certain. He just hoped he'd be safe on the road. He opened his eyes again as he listened for the Jeep to start up and Sam to leave. A part of him wanted to run out before the younger man left and prevent him from going out on the road. Instead, he kicked himself for causing the situation to begin with. "Great, Calavicci. Maybe you're the nozzle here. If you'd just checked your mail a little closer or if you'd just let him know about this earlier, but no. You had to try and protect him again."

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Sam made his way back to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and watching as his friend cleaned up the mugs from the coffee and tea. "I did it again," he said softly. "I over reacted."

Al felt a surge of relief when the door opened and Sam walked back in. He'd decided to keep himself busy and clean up the mess on the table. He put the mugs down again. "No. I should've known better. I'm sorry, Kid."

Sam looked at Al unsure if he should laugh or just walk out again as the man told him he was wrong. "Can't you just agree with me?" he finally asked. "If you tell me I'm acting like a nozzle," he said using one of Al's favorite terms, "I'm not going to fall apart, you know. Hell, it just might convince me that I'm really not so far gone that you have to treat me with kid gloves."

"You're not fragile, Sam. I know that."

"You sure don't act that way. I run out of here 'cause I'm having a temper tantrum and you tell me it's ok? Well, it isn't." Sam walked further into the kitchen standing opposite Al with the island between them. "Stop treating me like a child and stop letting me get away with acting that way," he said firmly.

Al looked at his friend. "There's not much I can do if you're on a stubborn, Sam. Would you have turned around and stopped if I'd pushed? I doubt it." He looked down. "And thinking about it, I realized you have a point. I do try to ease the blows of life when I can. That's not very fair of me either."

"No, I wouldn't have stopped but I do appreciate it if you tell me I'm being a jackass," Sam replied with heat in his voice. He completely missed the last part of what Al had said. "You used to do that once upon a time but for the last year, you don't. You just agree with me or try to shelter me. I'd much rather hear, 'Sam, cut it out you're being an ass again,' cause then at least I know you consider me an equal...and what did you say?" he asked as he realized why it was Al was telling him he was right this time.

Al winced when Sam implied that he didn't consider him an equal, but he answered his last question. "I said you were right. This past year has been a hell of a year for you. I guess I just wanted to make sure that the new year wouldn't be more of the same."

"But you can't. Like I said, you're not a magician. We just have to let happen what happens. Al, I'm not trying to hurt you but the more you try right now, the worse it's getting. Do you know what bothered me more than thinking that you don't trust me?" He waited a beat to see if Al would answer but when no answer came right away he continued, "It was that brief time last night when I didn't know if I could trust you."

Al's eyes turned away from Sam's for a moment. That had hurt him as well and he couldn't quite face his friend for a moment. He swallowed tightly; returning his eyes to look into his best friend's and then softly said. "Yeah. That was a major unintended consequence."

Sam slowly sat on one of the stools at the island. "There aren't a lot of people I've been able to really trust and know they'd tell me the truth. There's really only been you, Mom, and Katie these last few years. Everyone else, I'm never sure if they're just trying to impress me or get on my good side or something." He looked down away from Al for just a moment. When he looked back up, there was open pleading in his eyes. "Please, don't make me lose your trust, Al. Don't give me reason to doubt it 'cause if that happens, I don't know what I'd do."

"I'm telling you this right now, Kid. You can always trust me." Al took a breath. "Ok, so holding this back wasn't the best idea I've ever had, but you gotta know it came from a good place. I'd never intentionally hurt you. I'd rather take any hit myself."

"I know that." Sam raked his fingers back through his hair then braced his elbows on the counter, his forehead resting in his hand. "It's just the timing. There's just too much going on right now. Finding out about this...that you knew and didn't tell me...I guess it was just the last straw."

Al nodded. "Well, we're going to get through all of this. We'll just make sure there's nothing the psychiatrist can peg you with and once your tonsils are out, the strep issue will be a thing of the past. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam agreed. "That's not going to happen very fast, though. Darn it!" he exclaimed getting up and starting to pace again. "Why couldn't this psychiatrist have come a month or two down the road? Why now? I swear Weitzman knew what was going on. Hell, maybe he found some way to infect me this last time."

"Sam, calm down. We're going to make sure that Weitzman doesn't win this round. We'll just keep you away from the nozzle he's sending us. Maybe, in a way, this strep thing is a good thing." As Sam's gaze told him he looked like he'd grown another head, he continued. "I don't mean getting sick is good. I mean, it gives you an excuse to be under the radar for now."

"I can't keep avoiding the guy - or woman," Sam amended. "It's probably going to be about two week's before the surgery. I can't lock myself away in my office or lab for that long and not have it be noticed. That'll just make matters worse. And what about everyone else? Does anyone else know the psychiatrist is coming?"

"No one else knows, Kid. Remember, you put me in charge of HR. I can keep him..." Al realizing that Sam was right. It could be a woman. "...or her occupied with paperwork for the first few days at least. You've got some cabling work to do below the imaging chamber. That's restricted so no matter how much the nozzle wants to go there, we have a valid reason to keep him or her away to the end of the first week, at least." He smiled. "No, Sam. There are ways to play their game so they don't get you. Remember, I have practical experience in this area."

Sam started shaking his head as Al laid out his plans. "No. We can't do that. That'll play right into Weitzman's hands. If we're keeping this person away from me and just about everyone else on the project we might as well just file a report with Weitzman for him saying there's something going on." He sat down opposite Al again. "We need to call a meeting tomorrow with...with...anyone this guy's gonna want to talk to. They need to know what's coming."

Al considered what Sam was saying. "Ok, you've got a point there. Meeting tomorrow sounds good. Still, we can at least minimize the time they get to observe for valid reasons. The project is ultra-secret. I don't care how high a clearance this nozzle is, there are simply things he or she doesn't need to know about it. Even Weitzman will agree with that."

"I just don't want it to look like we're hiding anything or anyone's lying. That'll only make things worse."

"I'm not suggesting lying and I'm not suggesting hiding. I'm suggesting that we have work that has to be done and we have a valid reason to do it away from the eyes of the nozzle."

"I know that. I'm just worried how it's going to look. Frankly, if I could just lock myself away and never be seen, I'd like that. I'd like that a whole lot. I hate having people pick at my brain trying to see what's wrong with me and why I'm so different."

Al's eyes narrowed a bit. "Has this happened before, Sam?"

"I could read by the time I was two and I could do calculus in my head by the time I was 5. What do you think?" Sam asked dryly.

"Ah geez, that sucks, Kid." Al had no love of psychiatrists, especially after they'd almost put him under a microscope after he returned from Nam. The space program psychs weren't much better, but at least by then, he'd learned how to handle them.

Sam tried to shrug off his experiences but it wasn't easy. "No one had ever seen anyone like me, I guess. Hey, I got to go to Chicago when I was two," he said with forced joviality.

Al nodded. "You are pretty unique, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam said ruefully. "I was so unique those 'specialists' didn't know what to do with me when I acted like a normal two year old." His voice put the quotation marks around specialist and left no doubt what he thought about them.

Al anger towards Weitzman was taken up a notch. The fact that the bozo's plan was doing this to Sam was unconscionable. Instead, his voice grew kinder toward the kid. "Well, this time is going to be different. We'll make sure that the 'specialist' doesn't get his or her claws into you."

"Oh," Sam said with a small laugh. "So you're gonna let me keep my bear and eat ice cream."

"Well, your bear is a given. As to the ice cream, after your tonsils are out, you get as much as you want," said Al with a smile.

Thinking back about his experiences with specialists, child psychologists, and psychiatrists when he was a child, Sam grew more serious. "I just don't want to get locked away. I don't want to be put in a room with mirrors again."

Al knew exactly what kind of room Sam was talking about having his own experience in rooms with two-way mirrors where some expert was watching from the other side to see what he'd do. "Yeah. Those rooms are the worst. Course the tests they give you aren't exactly fun when you know they're watching."

"I didn't know anyone was watching," Sam said softly. "I just knew I couldn't be with Mom and Dad, they took my bear away, and I didn't know who any of these people were...and they just kept asking me things and I didn't know why."

"Ah, Sammy..." Al said softly.

Caught in the memory of that time, Sam continued, "We left before they finished all their testing. Mom said while we were there I started to act younger again and started to wet the bed." He visibly shook off the memories trying to put them behind him. "Doesn't make any difference now. I can't change what happened. I just don't want it to happen again."

Al didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say as Sam revealed yet another small piece of a past that wasn't as rosy as he sometimes made it out to be. He just knew that no one was going to do anything to Sam, not without going through him first. Again, he realized just how much the kid had been through in his thirty plus years. No one was going to hurt him again.

"So where does this leave us?" Sam asked when Al didn't say anything. "Is this all going to happen again?"

"No way," Al quickly disagreed misunderstanding Sam and thinking he was talking about yet another person being assigned to them. "It's our project. They're not going to cause you any grief about it. Not while I'm around."

"No. That's not what I mean," Sam corrected. "I mean next time something like this comes up, what's going to happen? Are you going to tell me about it or do I just find out the hard way?"

Al knew there might be times in the future that he might need some leeway. On the other hand, he wanted to give Sam the assurance he needed. "Um, I promise I won't hold anything back, Kid. Not unless we both agree that's the best plan."

Sam wasn't fooled. He knew no matter what Al was saying, there were still going to come times when the man thought he should hide something from him – no matter what. "Ok. I guess that's the best we can do, but Al," he waited until he was sure he had his friend's complete attention, "next time you decide to hide something from me, make sure I don't find out that's what you're doing."

Al gave Sam a grin, knowing he wasn't fooling his friend one bit. "Deal."

This time when Sam laughed, it was neither forced nor nervous laugher. "What am I gonna do with you?" he asked through his laughter. No matter how much it might drive him crazy when Al hovered over him or tried to protect him, he knew that he did so solely out of caring and how could you argue with that. No matter what, Sam knew he'd always have the man in his corner no matter how infuriating it might get.

Al's heart lightened hearing the kid's laughter. "Ok, so - back to the project or you want to veg out on the sofa and watch movies?"

"Let's play hooky for another day," Sam suggested putting aside the fact that you really couldn't play hooky on a day when you normally didn't work. "There's the leftover beef stew and pork chops we can eat then some of that ice cream for later."

"Ok. Sounds like a plan." Al thought about Sam's throat. "I guess popcorn is out of the question?"

"Unless you can make some appear out of thin air, yeah, it is."

"Oh...that's right. We have chips instead." Al remembered and then went back to his original thought. "I meant, popcorn wouldn't be good on your throat." He paused. "The chips probably won't be any better though."

"My throat's feeling ok. I guess it doesn't matter what I eat." It was about the only good thing Sam really saw going for him at the moment.

"Oh. Ok then." Al opened the cupboard and pulled out the chips he'd bought and fixed a bowl of salsa. "You want to get us something to drink, Sam?"

Sam watched amused as Al pulled out chips and salsa. "Al, it's only 11:30 in the morning. You sure you want to eat chips and salsa now?" It seemed his friend was going to go out of his way to smooth things over.

Al shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Because it wasn't that long ago we ate breakfast and we'll be eating lunch sooner than later," Sam pointed out. "But go ahead if you want to."

"Thanks." Although Al often ate at odds times, Sam still would point out what he thought of the situation. Since his release from the hospital after coming back from 'Nam he'd found the need to "graze" often during the day. He'd come to the conclusion that his need to eat frequently wasn't physical so much as mental. After all, he'd had little more than a bowl of rice a day for years.

As Sam watched Al get the chips and salsa he chewed on his lower lip in thought before reaching a decision. "You know that stuff I was working on yesterday," he began tentatively.

"Yeah. You looked pretty into it," Al said turning to Sam. "I know you're not going to eat any of this...but we still need something to drink. I'll get it if you want. What would you like?"

"Nothing, I'm all set." Sam started to walk out of the kitchen. "I'm just going to go get that notebook."

"Ok. I'm getting a ginger ale though." Sam left the room and Al continued getting his late morning snack together. He couldn't think of a better way to watch movies.

Sam returned to the room a few moments later, notebook in hand. "It's still pretty rough," he explained as he rolled the notebook in his hand nervously. He was unsure what Al would think of his ideas. "I wasn't writing very neatly," he further explained apologetically as he handed the notebook to his friend.

Al had placed the items on a tray to be taken into the living room. He took the notebook instead. Starting to read the hastily scribbled notes with multiple corrections and look at the rough drawn sketches caused his brow to furrow a bit.

"Is it that bad?" Sam asked seeing his reaction.

"No. Not bad..." said Al hesitantly. He looked up at Sam, confusion on his face. "Let me see if I understand this. You want to link our brainwaves? I'm not sure I get where you're going here."

"I'm not sure either," Sam admitted. "I'm not sure how to do it. I just know that it's going to be necessary for this to work. We need to have a way to be connected or the whole thing's going to be useless. It doesn't matter if I can get it work so I end up in past. If there's no one I can communicate with here in the present..." His voice trailed off then he continued, "I can't think of anyone I trust more who I'd want to have that kind of connection with."

Al swallowed tightly. His voice was a little rough as he responded. "That means a lot coming from you, kid, especially after our recent...um...issue." He looked at the notes again. "You're probably going to need some outside help in this." He looked at Sam and explained his reasoning. "I mean, I know you're an MD and all but your specialty isn't in neuroscience and even if you have the medical side down, do we know how this will affect anyone psychologically? I mean to be so closely linked with another human being?"

"I guess I haven't really thought that far in advance. I guess there could be some problems." He looked down briefly then back to his friend meeting his eyes. "I'm willing to take that risk but I understand if it's not something you want to do."

Al looked at Sam and put his hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes to be sure he understood him. "Sam, of all the human beings I'm willing to trust, you're on the top of a very short list. I think it's only prudent to think through the ramifications and do the basic research first, but unless the research shows there's a valid reason not to do this, I'm willing to head down that path."

Al noted the body language that Sam was displaying and knew the kid was moved. He decided that now that the path had been paved, putting thing back on a normal keel was important. "Now...we've got movies to watch and I've, at least, got chips to eat."

"Movies sound good," Sam agreed.

"Then lead on McDuff," said Al picking up his tray and following Sam out the door.

The two men moved to the living room watching one of the movies that Al had given Sam for Christmas. When it was done Sam suggested that they eat the rest of the beef stew for lunch and then come back to the living room for more movies. The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion with the two men relaxing in front of the TV and only leaving the comfort of the couches for food and other needs. They both turned in early knowing that they'd have to be up early in the morning for the drive back to the project.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When Sam's alarm clock started beeping at 6:30 he would have cheerfully thrown it across the room to shatter on the wall. Although he generally was an early riser and a morning person, being woken up by the alarm tended to put him in a grumpy mood.

After a quick stop in the bathroom, he went down to Al's room and pounded on the door to make sure he was awake. The older man tended to enjoy sleeping in and often needed an extra incentive to wake up. "Better get a move on, Al. We've got a long drive this morning."

Hearing no movement in the bedroom and not getting a response, Sam knocked harder. "Al, c'mon. Quite fooling around." As he finished speaking, he felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around to see his friend standing behind. "Al...geez...what are you doing?"

"Fixing coffee? What the hell else would I be doing at this time in the morning," asked Al, looking a little ragged for being up as early as he was. Some of the events from the last few days had sat heavy on him and he found that getting deeply into sleep had eluded him.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked. "I mean, you don't usually get up this early without being dragged out of bed."

"Um, nothing really," Al hedged. It was true. It was more of the conglomeration of events. Al knew that his hovering often upset the kid and this time, with him withholding information, well...he couldn't really blame Sam for being testier about it. That coupled with wondering how they were going to address the new 'shrink' on the project just hadn't made for a good night's sleep. "Coffee should be ready in about five minutes."

"Ok. I'm gonna go shower and get dressed." Sam tried his best to hold back a yawn. "Maybe I'll feel more awake then."

"Ok. Meet you in the kitchen in about a half hour."

Twenty-five minutes later Sam was back in the kitchen. He was dressed in his usual work attire of dark wash jeans, a button down shirt and a pull over sweater. His hair was still damp from the shower. Al and others had often teased him that if anyone didn't know he was the director of Project Quantum Leap they'd never guess it based on the way he chose to dress. He'd never been comfortable dressing in a shirt and tie every day and preferred just to blend in. He was just finishing pouring a cup of coffee when Al walked in.

"Hey, Sam. Good idea. We'll just tell the shrink to look for the guy in the suit and tie. He'll never find you," Al said, going over to fix himself a second cup of coffee.

Sam looked down at what he was wearing then over to Al. "Give it a rest, would ya? That's really starting to get old. I don't like wearing a suit and tie and I'm not going to start wearing one now and if the psychiatrist thinks that makes me crazy then he's the one who needs his head examined."

"Oh calm down, Kid. I was just razzing you. I didn't think after all this time you'd be so sensitive."

"And I'd think by now you'd be tired of the same joke," Sam countered as he put slices of bread in the toaster. "You want some?"

"Ok," Al said to the question. "I don't know. Sometimes it just seems like that same joke is sort of...stabilizing, you know?" He opened the refrigerator. "You want some juice?"

"No, just coffee's fine."

"Ok." Al took out the pitcher and poured a glass for himself. "Have you thought about what you want to say at the meeting today?"

"I've been going over it in my head and the only thing I keep coming back to is 'run.'" Sam took a sip from his coffee. "I don't suppose that's really going to work?" he asked with a half grin.

"I doubt it, but at least your instincts are good." Al sighed. "I still think that until you get healthier, you staying away from whoever it is isn't a bad idea. We're in the midst of a construction phase, for God's sake. That means getting into dangerous and restricted areas and I doubt any shrink's gonna have the clearance for that." He screwed up his mouth with distaste. "It would be like that nozzle Weitzman to do this to set you on edge. You give the person too much cooperation and get behind schedule and he's likely to try and nail you just as hard."

"Maybe," Sam suggested, "If I can get the project to work we can go back and make it so Weitzman was never even on the committee overseeing the project."

"Wouldn't that be a kick in the butt?" said Al with a smile. "Too bad all we'll be able to do is observe the past. There's one or two things I wouldn't mind changing."

Although the intent of the project was to observe, Sam knew that they were crossing into untested territory and anything could happen. He was reminded of the idea he'd had over a year ago that he'd need to draw up a list of guidelines to prevent any interference in the past. He'd meant to do it then but had gotten sidetracked and never quite sat down to do it. "No way," he said shaking his head. "There needs to be rules, guidelines in place to make sure we don't' tamper with anything and create a butterfly effect."

"I know that, Sam. I agree with you. I get the idea that if a person were able to mess with their own timeline, the interconnections with other people would create a ripple effect that could alter and effect history. I'm just saying, all of us have 20/20 hindsight about things that we'd change if we could."

Sam finished buttering his toast and sat at the island with it and his cup of coffee. "I know there's plenty I would change if I could." Three major things quickly passed his mind – save Tom, save his father, stop Katie from marrying Chuck. "That's why there needs to be guidelines.

Al looked up at Sam at those words. "What? The Moral Master can be tempted?"

"I'm only human," Sam responded not even bothering to complain about the newest name Al had for him. Even with his photographic memory, he couldn't keep track of that list because it was getting so long.

Yeah," Al said, taking a bite of the toast. "I guess all of us have chinks in our armor."

"I guess you can call 'em chinks," Sam agreed softly before looking at the clock on the microwave. He took a quick bit of the toast and guzzled the rest of his coffee. "We better get going."

Al quickly finished his own breakfast. "Yeah."

Sam grabbed his mug and Al's and brought them over to the dishwasher. Unfortunately, it still had the dishes from the previous day in it so he just put the mugs in the sink to deal with later. He was planning on coming back to the house after the appointment with the specialist Wednesday so he'd take care of them then.

He got his and Al's coats from the closet and then led the way to the garage getting in the Jeep. It was going to be a long ride to the project and he was hoping they'd hit little or no traffic. As they were driving up the road he asked, "You'll get the email out for the meeting right away, right. I want to do this as soon as possible."

Al's voice was casual. "I already did from your home computer. Meeting's set for 9:30."

"9:30?" Sam questioned glancing quickly at his watch then stepping a little harder on the accelerator. "Why didn't you tell me that before now? We'll be lucky to get there in time. Why'd you do it so early?"

"We're not going to be late, Sam," Al said reasonably. "We've got plenty of time." Shrugging he added, "Besides, I knew you'd want to do this first thing."

"Yeah, first thing's great. I'd just like to have a little more time to prepare than walking in the door. The point is that we want to convince the shrink that I'm not nuts. Not being prepared for a meeting is not the way to do it."

"The shrink won't be there, Sam. And you come into a lot of meetings unprepared. You always do a great job."

"Oh great. Thanks. I thought you were supposed to be my friend," Sam responded to Al's statement of his past unpreparedness. "The psychiatrist might not be there, but he's going to want to talk to the people who are. What am I supposed to do? Tell them to lie about how unprepared I am?" Sam continued talking but it was more to himself than his friend. "I hate this. I really hate this. I just want to do my research, that's all. Why do I have to keep begging for money and playing "boss" and proving that I'm not looney. I really, really hate this."

"I know you do, Kid," Al replied comfortingly even though Sam was talking to himself. "Unfortunately, that's the way the game is played."

Sam looked briefly over to Al. "I'm not cut out for all that, you know. I'm a scientist. I'm not a paper pusher and I'm terrible at begging for money."

"That's why you have me. Remember? Weitzman knows that too. He's just trying to get to you Kid."

Without meaning, Sam stepped a little harder on the accelerator speeding up more. "Guess what? He's succeeded. He's gotten to me."

Al sighed. "Slow down, Sam. There's a speed trap up ahead." He shook his head. "I know this is bothering you, but it will blow over. I'm sure of it."

"Oh good. Maybe I'll get arrested and then I won't be available to talk to anyone." Despite his words, Sam did slow down. "Do you know how much time I keep losing having to deal with all this crap? I really don't have time to deal with shrinks, Weitzman, begging for money, or any of that other stuff. I need to concentrate on doing my work and I'm going to lose time from that because of the darned tonsillectomy." He took a deep breath and made a quick decision. "Look, I know I said I didn't want you to take care of stuff for me anymore but do you think you can handle this. Can you just take care of the meeting today and…I don't know…help me play keep away with the shrink at least until after the surgery?"

Al looked over to Sam, seeing his agitation and again cursed Senator Weitzman silently in every language he knew. "Sure, Sam. I'll take care of it." He thought for a moment. "Like I said earlier, you've got some construction to do in the sublevels, cabling mostly, although we do have to put in some conduit first. That should keep you busy."

"So I'm not crazy," Sam responded with a smile. "I'm just part mole and can't be seen in the sunlight. Works for me. I do have some work I need to finish up in my lab first, though."

"If you can get it done today, you won't even need to do much more than greet the shrink tomorrow. I'll make sure that the schedule clearly shows where you'll be working until after the surgery."

"Ok, so today I hole up in my lab and for the next week or two, I do the cabling. Speaking of, has it come it yet? If we're still waiting for it to be delivered it's going to be a little hard to work on it."

"That's why I said we need to get the conduit in. We can run the cabling as soon as it arrives."

"Any idea when it's going to be in? It's been backordered for a while now."

"It had to do with the special insulating coating you wanted. They didn't have enough of it in stock and there wasn't another vendor that could supply it."

"I really hate having to depend on one vendor. That just opens the door for too many problems. If they don't have something, we're up that creek without a paddle." Sam let out a small sigh. "I guess there isn't much we can do about it. So, is it going to be in when they promised this time or are we going to have to wait another month?"

Al sighed. "Your guess is as good as mine on that, Kid. I've been trying to expedite it. You want to change your specs?"

"Change it? No, I don't want to change it. The cabling needs to meet those exact specifications otherwise we might as well just use a bunch of extension cords."

"That's about what I thought you'd say, Sam." Al blew out a breath. "I'll call them again after the meeting."

"Thanks. I'd do it but...they seem to respond better with you."

"No problem. You just concentrate on getting that lab stuff done." Al looked at his watch and smiled as they pulled into Sam's parking space. "8:35. Plenty of time to take care of the meeting."

The two men went through security and entered the complex. They got in the elevator and went down to the level where their offices were and got off. Sam needed to retrieve some information from his office, and Al had to prepare for the meeting. "If you need me, you know where I'll be," Sam said as they parted ways.

He greeted his assistant as he came back out of office. "I'm going to be working down in my lab today, Jenny. Hold all my calls unless it's an emergency or it's Dr. Masters or Dr. Sanders." He waited long enough to get an answering nod from the woman before going back to the elevator and going down to his lab.

QLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQL

Al headed down to the lab at 1 p.m. when Sam didn't show for lunch. Sam often did this, losing track of time. He went down to his workstation and sure enough, there was Sam, working on some problem. He knocked on the door jam. "Hey, Sam. Come on.

Let's get some lunch."

"Sure, Al," Sam responded. His tone was distracted and he didn't take his eyes off the computer screen. "Just leave it and I'll get to it."

"Uh uh," Al said. "You're getting over strep again. I don't want you relapsing and you need both a break and some good food to keep that from happening." He decided to use the upcoming situation to convince him. "Besides...the sooner you're in surgery, the sooner you'll be strong enough to deal with Weitzman's crap."

Hearing the tone of his friend's voice, Sam guessed that Al had said something other than what he'd thought he'd said. "What are you getting upset about?" he asked looking up from the computer.

"I'm not upset, but I'm not leaving your lunch here. You need a break Kid."

"Lunch? What about lunch? I thought you had some paperwork for me."

Al shook his head. "No Sam, I came to get you for lunch. I had them hold back a couple of the entrees in the cafeteria. Let's get up there and eat."

"But it's too early for lunch," Sam protested. Despite his protestation, he began to save what he'd been working on.

"It's 1 p.m., Sam. You've been working in here over four hours straight."

"Are you sure? Four hours?" Sam checked his watch to see that four hours had really passed. "Wow! I guess I really got lost in my work." Finished saving his work, he got up from the computer and walked over to where Al stood by the door. "How'd the meeting go?"

"Fine. Everyone is behind you, Sam. They think Weitzman's being a putz about this too. To a man...and woman...they all agree that while your ideas may be out there, you're as sane as any human being has a right to be."

"But they know I don't want anyone to lie, right? I don't want anyone to lie to cover for me."

"They won't lie, Sam. They don't have to."

Sam led the way out of his lab, shutting the door behind them. "I know. I just don't want anyone thinking they have to bend the truth or anything or say whatever they think this guy wants to hear. If he found out, that'd only make it worse."

Al nodded. "You've got to trust us, Sam. No one's going to do anything to hurt you."

"You know I trust you. It's just...just forget about it. I guess I'm just getting too strung out over this." He took a deep breath and reached to push the elevator call button as they got to the end of the corridor. "I just need to stop worrying about this and thinking the worst, that's all."

"That's for sure. I don't think I've ever seen you this wrapped around the axle, and that's saying a lot." The elevator arrived and opened. Al stepped in. He turned to Sam who'd followed him. "So, making progress in the lab?"

"Some. At least I've caught up to where I would have been if I hadn't left early on Friday."

"That's good." Al took a breath. "I called our cabling supplier."

"And..." Sam prompted hearing the deep breath. It didn't sound as if the news Al had received was what he hoped to hear.

Al rubbed the back of his head. "Well, you know that insulating coating you specified?"

"Spit it out, Al," Sam advised. "It's just like taking off a bandaid. It hurts less if you just get it over with."

Al nodded. "The coating requires a particular chemical that can only be obtained from a factory in France. The ship the barrel was coming over on was hit by another ship and sank."

"Ha ha, real funny." There was no humor in Sam's voice. Instead, it was tinged with irritation. "Last time you talked to them they had everything they needed for the coating. I don't remember what the excuse was that time but they had everything. Now try telling me the truth or are you checking to see if I've been paying attention."

"I am telling you the truth, Kid. They were waiting for this one component of the coating. It was set to arrive and now, they're having to reorder it. They're going to try to expedite it, but it's going to take some time." He looked away for a moment. "You sure you can't reconfigure the coating mix?"

They were nearing their destination and Sam wasn't quite ready to leave the relative privacy of the elevator. He reached over and toggled the switched that brought the elevator to a stop. "What the hell kind of game are you playing with me? Two weeks ago, you tell me they have everything and now they need some chemical and the ship it's on has sunk. I'm not in the mood for these games." Even though the elevator car was relatively small, Sam started to pace it. "You know it can't be reconfigured. If these yoyos can't get it done, find someone who can but enough with the excuses."

Al intercepted Sam on one of his circuits around the car stopping him by grabbing him by the shoulders. "Hey, when I reported to you two weeks ago, I didn't know they were holding back on that information. They thought they were going to be able to make the date of the contract and figured that what we didn't know, wouldn't hurt us. Trust me, I've read them the riot act about that, but now we have to deal with this. Since we're contracted with them and they have the clearances to work on the product, either we have to start at step one again or we give them another chance. Your call, Sam."

"My call?"Sam questioned. He broke away from Al's hold and moved to lean against the wall of the elevator car. "Yeah, like I really have time for any other decision to make." He let out a deep sigh. "So how long are they saying this time? Will it at least be here by the time I get back after the surgery? I can work on getting conduit in place in the meantime."

"From what I understand, they'll have the cabling on site in two weeks. I've told them if they don't, we'll be having our lawyers talking with their lawyers and ours have big ragged teeth."

"That should be plenty of time, then. If there are any delays, though..." Sam blew out a breath and reached over flipping the toggle switch so the elevator once again began to move. "If there are anymore delays, I want it to be crystal clear to them that we will take whatever measures are necessary."

"Done and done, Sam."

"Good. So, what'd they make for lunch today?"

"Quiche Lorraine with a green salad," Al said before adding. "It's French day."

"Quiche Lorraine," Sam echoed wrinkling his nose slightly. "I think I'll just find some peanut butter and jelly."

"You do that every time. Margarite's going to think you don't like her cooking."

The elevator doors opened and Sam started to walk you. "To be honest, I'm really not thrilled with her cooking." Quickly he added, "Don't let her know, though. That'll hurt her feelings."

"I think she's going to figure it out when you never eat anything she fixes." Al was thoughtful for a moment. "Should we start looking for another cook?"

"No," Sam quickly responded. "Everyone else seems to like her cooking. I don't want you to do that. Just because I don't like it, doesn't mean she should be out of a job."

Al looked over at Sam surprised. "Do I look like someone that would do that to someone? The Little Diner is looking for another cook. It would actually be easier for Margarite if she didn't have to drive out here. I wasn't going to suggest it to her, but I will if you'd like another cook."

"I don't care," Sam said throwing his hands up in the air. "Do whatever you want. Have you ever heard me complain about what I'm eating? Have I ever gone without because I don't like what Margarite has cooked? I've got enough to deal with without adding a cook."

Al's eyebrows went up a bit. It wasn't like Sam to react this way. "You don't have to deal with it at all, Sam. I know you don't complain. You're one of the easiest eaters I've ever known. I'm just saying, you can't live on peanut butter and jelly as a steady diet and if getting a cook that fixes things you will eat will solve that, maybe that's the way to go."

Sam stopped and whirled to face his friend. "Stop it, ok. Just stop it. The last time someone was this interested in what I ate was my mother when I was five years old. Geesh, do you keep track of everything I put in my mouth?" He turned and continued up the corridor. "And I don't live on peanut butter and jelly. I eat plenty of different things. Just do what you want about who's cooking. If it makes you happy to get someone new, do it. I can't guarantee it's going to change how I eat." He started to talk under his breath uncaring if his friend heard him or not. "Geez, all because I don't want to eat the quiche or whatever. You'd think I was cutting my arm off.

Al stopped and just looked at Sam. He knew friend was sick and stressed but for what seemed the umpteenth time, he'd flown off the handle. Some of the reasons, Al got. This time though, he was at a loss.

"What?" Sam asked sensing the other man just looking at him. "Do I have another head growing out of my shoulders?"

Al shook his head. "No. No extra head, but you're not acting like yourself either." He paused and took out one of his cigars examining it to give him something other than Sam to focus on. "Look, Sam. I know you're stressed. I know you're not feeling well. I know you're not exactly thrilled with some of my more recent choices, but I'm not the bad guy here."

"I didn't say you were," Sam said with a sigh. "It's just that I've got a supplier coming up with creative excuses to explain why they're not getting our supplies here. I got behind on my work because I left here early Friday. I've got a doctor who wants to take out yet another body part. And I've got a psychiatrist coming tomorrow who probably wants to prove to the world that I'm a looney toon." He kept his voice calm and reasonable as he spoke. "Now you want my input on what to do with a cook. Al, I'm not getting angry with you or flying off the handle. I just really don't have room on my plate for this and I guess it's really not something I care about that much. All I said was that I wasn't thrilled with Margarite's cooking, that's all. You're the one who started to turn it into some kind of federal case or something and making a big deal about it."

Al put up his hands. "Fine. Forget I said anything."

"Gladly. Now can we just get something to eat...please?"

They went into the cafeteria. Al retrieved the food and let Margarite know that Sam wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. She sighed and made it quickly, grousing that he didn't seem to enjoy what she fixed. Al tried to smooth things over by telling her that Sam just wasn't feeling well and PBJ's were comfort food. Finally, when she was finished, he carried both out to the table where Sam was sitting.

"Thanks," Sam said accepting the plate the sandwich was on. He took a bite from it and followed it with a drink from the glass of milk he'd gotten while Al was getting the food. He happened to catch a glance of the cook out of the corner of his eye and smiled apologetically at her. "She looks like she'd going to kill me," he said softly.

"I think she's just saying she hopes you feel better."

"No," Sam answered keeping the smile firmly on his face, "I think she's saying she hopes I choke on the sandwich. A little touchy, isn't she?"

"Well, Sam. Out of the last 15 entrees she's made, you've only eaten 2."

Sam stopped mid-chew and just stared at Al for a moment. "You really do keep track of everything I eat, don't you?" he asked once he'd swallowed. "I'm sorry if I'm not a fan of her "theme" meals. When she cooks just plain ordinary food, it's good. You know I don't particularly care for fancy stuff. Geesh. I can't believe we're spending this much time on what I do and don't eat."

"I didn't keep track of what you ate. She did." Al took a bite chewed and swallowed. "Margarite and I have talked, ok? She felt her creativity was being stifled so I agreed to her theme meals."

"Oh, that's really comforting. The cooks keeping track of what I eat." Sam started to take another bite out of the sandwich then put it down looking at it suspiciously. "You don't think she stuck anything in here, do you?"

'No. She wouldn't do that, Sam."

"I'm not so sure considering the looks she's giving me." He took a bite anyway washing it down with milk. "This is a cafeteria, not a 4 star restaurant. If she feels she's being stifled here, maybe she would be better off someplace else. I don't think Lola's going to appreciate much creativity, though."

"Well...Lola does need to have a few specials on the menu. Regular changes with the standards."

"Just do whatever you think is best," Sam said as he finished the sandwich. "Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of this whole discussion."

"Listen, Sam. I'll take care of it, ok?""

"Fine, whatever. Like I said, do what you think is best." He finished the glass of milk and got up to take his plate and glass to the collection point for dirty dishes. "I'm going to start working on that conduit...unless you think we need to hash out whether or not the laundry service needs to be looked into." Despite the sarcasm of the question, Sam's tone was playful.

"Nope. Laundry is fine. Let me give you a hand on the conduit."

"You don't have to. If I recall," Sam said with an evil grin, "you said you had paperwork piling up on your desk. I wouldn't want you to get too far behind on that."

"You would remember that." Al sighed. "It would be more fun to put in conduit."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The day had started and Al and Sam met for breakfast at the project cafeteria. Margarite had, thankfully, made simple scrambled eggs and Al was glad that Sam had taken some. The fact that he pushed them around on his plate bothered Al a bit. He knew why though. "Worried about the 8:30 meeting with the new guy, huh?"

Sam shrugged slightly. "I guess." He speared a bite of egg and put it in his mouth. "Today could be the beginning of the end for all we know."

"Sam, stop borrowing trouble. We've got a plan. It's going to be ok."

"I'm not borrowing trouble. I'm just facing reality."

"You're borrowing trouble. Let's just look at the positive, ok?" Al looked over to Sam. "Listen...we'll meet the guy and then head down to the lower level. Things'll be fine."

"Sure, they're going to be just dandy." Sam drained his mug of coffee. "Let's go get it over with."

"Ok." Al finished his coffee as well. He put his and Sam's dishes on the same tray and took them over to drop them off. "Let's go."

They headed down to the conference room where they'd be meeting the new shrink. They were the first to arrive. About two minutes later, though, they got a call that the new doctor would be arriving at the conference room in five minutes.

"Who else is supposed to be here?" Sam asked looking around the room. "Is it just us meeting him right now? Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea?"

"Well, Weitzman said they'd be arriving at 8:30. I didn't invite anyone else to the meeting."

"Weitzman's going to be here too?" Sam asked in alarm. "I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me that?"

"No, Sam," Al reassured putting his hand on Sam's arm to calm him. "Weitzman's not going to be here. We can be thankful for that. I just received an email from him telling me when the new person was coming on. Dr. Beeks is the nozzle's name."

"So it's just this Beeks then. I don't suppose you found anything out about him?"

"I didn't really get a chance to. Sorry."

"Great, I love going into things blind," Sam groused. Before he said anything else, there was a soft knock on the door and a woman walked in accompanied by his assistant Jenny.. She looked familiar to Sam and as she approached, he realized she was the same woman who'd been in the coffee shop yesterday - the one that Al had been ogling and the one that had asked them for directions. Immediately he suspected she'd been there to spy on them ahead of the meeting though how she could have known he'd be there, he couldn't say.

"Dr. Beckett?" the woman asked as she approached. "My name is Dr. Verbena Beeks. I'm your new staff psychiatrist."

Sam hesitated for just a moment before taking the woman's hand. "It's nice to meet you again, Dr. Beeks," he said. His voice didn't carry much friendliness.

Al stood up. "You?" His eyes had narrowed as he recognized the woman that was now living in his apartment complex.

Hearing the accusation in Al's voice, Dr. Beeks turned toward him. "Is there a problem, Mr..."

"Admiral Calavicci, and I..." He took a breath and was about to say something when he saw Sam's eyes pleading with him not to make anything worse. "I was wondering if my directions helped at all yesterday." He was sure this couldn't be a coincidence. The fact that she'd had breakfast where they had and the additional fact that she was living at the Casa Vita apartment couldn't be merely coincidence. He wondered how long she'd had them under surveillance. _She even has her act down so well, she pretends she doesn't know who I am_, he thought.

"Ah, Admiral Calavicci. Yes, the directions were wonderful," Dr. Beeks answered with a smile. She turned again to Sam. "Dr. Beckett, I'm so glad to finally meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you and I'm looking forward to working with you."

"I'll bet," Sam agreed dourly. "Look," he continued looking at his watch, "It's been a real pleasure to meet you but I have a conference call I have to be on in about 15 minutes. Admiral Calavicci will show you around and get you set up."

Al nodded. He wasn't going to let this quack get anywhere close to Sam until they knew more about her. No way was anyone going to get their talons into Sam. "We have some paperwork to fill out and new employee orientation to complete." He figured with that alone he could keep her busy for a few days.

Dr. Beeks was confused at the speed the meeting was going at. "I thought," she began hesitantly, "we'd have a chance to sit down and talk."

"I'd really love to, Dr. Beeks," Sam responded edging toward the door. "But this is a last minute phone call with a scientist I'd like to bring on the project. I'll have my assistant Jenny get in touch with you and let you know when I have some free time and we can get together." He didn't wait for a response from either Al or Dr. Beeks before leaving.

He hadn't told a complete lie. He did have a call scheduled with Dr. Motts later in the morning and it was a call he'd been trying to set up for a while. That it saved him from spending any more time with Dr. Beeks right now was a bonus.

"You'll find that we often have to strike when the iron's hot, Dr. Beeks," Al further explained as Sam slipped out of the conference room. "I'm sure you understand. We are on a tight construction schedule after all," he said with smoothness. "You wouldn't want the project to get behind, would you?"

"No, of course not." Dr. Beeks was just a little bewildered at how the morning was progressing. "I thought Dr. Beckett said he had to be on a call with another scientist, not construction?" she asked suspecting that she was getting the brush off from the Project Director.

"The scientist that Dr. Beckett is talking about will be involved in some of the construction phases. When IT is involved, that is often the case," explained Al. He wasn't sure that was exactly true, but figured it was close enough.

Dr. Beeks still wasn't sure she wasn't getting the brush off but she was willing to let it go for now. "Well, I'll just have to try to catch up with Dr. Beckett some time later. She took a seat at the conference table and gestured for Al to do the same. "Perhaps we can start."

Al smiled. "Why don't we go to the HR conference room? It will be more comfortable there and I can get you set up with a monitor." It had the added advantage that it was three floors up and Sam would be able to move about easier on the lower levels. He had started to tick off in his mind the various training modules he'd have her do.

"Monitor?" Dr. Beeks questioned with a sigh. It looked like Admiral Calavicci was going to do his best to give her the brush off as well. She was beginning to wonder what they'd been told about her arrival.

"Yes. As I indicated, in addition to the cutting edge scientific R&D that this project is leading, it is also a construction zone. I'd like you to take some of the training modules on safety as well to assure you'll be safe at all times."

"Lead on, Admiral," Dr. Beeks said with a sigh. It didn't seem like there was any way she'd be getting out of this.

Al took her to the conference room and handed her off to the HR Administrator, explaining that Molly really knew her stuff. He promised to be back by lunch to take her to the cafeteria and then excused himself, indicating that he had several issues to address. With a smile, he told her, "Now don't hesitate to have Molly call me if there's anything I can help you with."

"Don't worry, Admiral. I'll make sure you're called if I need anything at all." Dr. Beeks resigned herself to spending at least the morning in HR. The afternoon, though, she did not plan on spending there. She had a job to do and she was going to do it.

Al nodded and headed out the door.

QLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQL

Sam had successfully spent the day avoiding Dr. Beeks and any of her questions. It was now nearly 6:30 and he was waiting in his quarters for Al. His friend was going to get their dinner from the cafeteria and eat with him here. There was a knock on the door as if someone was kicking rather than rapping on the door.

"Hey, Sam. Open up."

"Hang on a sec," Sam called as he finished putting some placemats down on the small table in the kitchen area. He hurried over to the door and pulled it open. "Mmm...smells good," he said as Al walked by him. "Did you get someone new to do the cooking already?"

Al shook his head. "No, but she did standard spaghetti tonight. I figured you were ok with that."

"Well, it's not your spaghetti but I guess it'll do." Sam led the way to the small kitchenette. "I don't have a lot to choose from," he said as he pulled the small refrigerator open. "You've got a choice of apple juice, apple juice, or apple juice."

"You know," Al said, "I think I'd like some apple juice."

Sam laughed and pulled the bottle out of the refrigerator. "I kind of thought you'd say that." He put the bottle down on the table and took a seat. "So, how'd things go today with Beeks?"

Al took a deep breath. "I didn't spend much time with her. Molly's putting her through the HR paces. We had lunch together. We talked about the apartment complex and stores in town."

"What's your take on her?" Sam trusted Al's opinion of people. If he were willing to give Dr. Beeks the benefit of the doubt, then Sam would be willing to as well.

"I'm not sure. She seemed nice enough today but I can't help but thinking she's as sneaky as Weitzman," Al said as he put down the tray and moved the plates off of it on onto the placemats Sam had set out.

"I keep thinking that too but then I feel bad for brushing her off. If she's not doing Weitzman's dirty work, what's she going to think of us?" Sam started to poke at the spaghetti on his plate then put an experimental bite in his mouth. "It might smell good but I think we found Chef Boy Ardee's sister," he commented after chewing and swallowing the food.

Al shrugged. "Yeah. Margarite's cooking sometimes does leave a lot to be desired." He took a bite and chewed, washing it down with the juice. "You having second thoughts about Beeks, Kid? Just think about it. She was there when we went to breakfast yesterday. Who knows how long she's really been in town."

"I know all that, trust me. I know she's probably in Weitzman's pocket but I can't help but wonder." He ate a little more of the spaghetti. "I guess it doesn't matter now. We can't go back and undo what we did earlier. Besides, I still don't like the idea of a psychiatrist checking up on me no matter who she might be working for."

"Me neither." Al chuckled. "I'm having her watch all the safety modules."

"Ouch," Sam said around a mouthful. "Even if she is in Weitzman's pocket, that's still kind of cruel, isn't." He took the cup at his place and filled it from the bottle of juice. "If she isn't Weitzman's little worker, that's not going to give her any warm feelings about us."

Al shrugged. "I told her it's for her safety. Who could argue with that?"

"If I recall correctly, I argued with it when you tried to make me watch it all."

"Yeah...but you'd read most of the actual regulations," Al said, taking another bite of the spaghetti. "Since you'd memorized all of that, having you watch the videos was sort of a moot point."

"Uh, I didn't actually read them all," Sam admitted sheepishly. "I tried. I really did but I fell asleep."

"Government documentation can do that to you, Kid," Al commiserated. "So, what did you miss?"

"Um...everything after the title page," Sam mumbled around a mouthful of spaghetti. "Dr. Sanders called today," he said in an evident attempt to change the topic before he could get a sermon from Al about not reading the regulations.

Al was about to talk to Sam about needing to know the safety regs when Sam brought up the ENT he was seeing. "What did he have to say?"

"She," Sam corrected as he pushed the spaghetti around his plate. "And I guess I really shouldn't have said she called. It was the office. They were just confirming my appointment on Wednesday."

"What time do we need to be there?"

"The appointment's at 3:30." Sam smiled slightly at the way Al asked the question. There was no question that he'd be going with him. "Her office is in the same medical building at the hospital that Dr. Stone's office is in."

"Well, that's convenient. All of your doctors in one place."

"Not all. Masters and Elliot are in different locations." Sam started to chuckle softly and when Al looked at him questioningly he explained, "I'm getting a really good collection of doctors. I've got a primary care, nephrologist, orthopedic and now I can add an ENT to the mix. All I'm really missing is a good cardiologist and neurologist."

We can always have those on retainer," Al joked. Seeing Sam glare at him, he chuckled. "Ok, Kid. I was only joking."

"Yeah, well, the rate things are going I'm not so sure it'll stay a joke." Sam at more of the food on his plate then thoughtfully asked, "wasn't there a neurologist after the plane crash? Wonder if that would count or if this collection can only include doctors here in New Mexico."

Al thought back to that time after the plane crash and concern by that neurologist that Sam might have suffered brain damage. Both he and Thelma had been thrilled when Sam came out of the coma no worse for wear, at least where his brain was concerned. "Um. Yeah. There was a neurologist then, Sam. I guess for collections you get to choose."

"Well, let's just add that one, then. That way there's no 'need' to add another one. I swear, I didn't know this many specialists when I was doing my rotations as an intern at Mass General."

"Well, hopefully, this is the last one." Al pushed the rest of his spaghetti away. "You think the Doc will schedule you for surgery tomorrow?"

"You mean do it tomorrow? Geez, I hope not. I'd like a little time to prepare." Sam also pushed the remainder of his dinner away. "Besides, I haven't done any pre-op testing so that wouldn't really work."

"No, Sam, that's not what I meant. I meant you think we'll know the date he's going to schedule you to have the surgery."

"She, Al. It's a woman," Sam corrected again. "Most likely she'll schedule it. I figure probably sometime the middle or end of next week." He imparted the information in much the same way he would if he were talking about the date of his execution.

"Come on, Sam. You know this is for the best. I bet if you were the doctor and he...I mean she was the patient with the same history, you recommend exactly the same thing."

"I know this is for the best. That's not it at all. I also know that a tonsillectomy is about 100 times worse for an adult than it is for a kid. I'm not looking forward to that, ok. I'm really not into pain."

"I hear you, Kid, and you've had way too much of it the past few years. Hopefully, this will be the end of that cycle."

"I'm willing to bet Vegas doesn't give it real good odds," Sam snorted. "Sorry, I don't mean to be down. I just really wish I didn't have to do this." He got up, picking up the dishes to take to the sink. "Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and Sanders will disagree with Masters and she'll recommend I don't have it done."

"You just said you know it's for the best yourself. I think it's worse odds you'll get out of it that easy."

"Can't a guy have a little hope?" Sam tempered his question with a small smile as he scraped the remains of their dinner down the garbage disposal. "If you're still hungry, I think I've got some cookies or something in one of the cupboards."

"Oreos?" Al said, a hopeful look appearing on his face. "With milk?"

"I don't think so." Sam pulled open the one of the cupboards finding the box of cookies and showed it to Al. "They're graham crackers...but they're chocolate."

Al's face scrunched a little as his friend mentioned graham crackers. The added chocolate adjective softened it. "Oh well, anything with chocolate can't be bad." He took the box Sam handed him. "So...what did Motts say?"

"Nothing good. I don't know what to do to convince this guy that he'd be perfect here." Sam finished scraping the dishes and started washing them. "I think it's gonna take a trip out to LA to convince this guy and who knows when I'm going to be able to schedule a trip out."

"How soon do you absolutely need him on the project?"

"I'd like to get him on ASAP but I guess, worst case scenario, within six months."

"Ok...let me do some checking. Everyone has a soft spot somewhere. We just need to find Motts'."

"Not this time," Sam said shaking his head. "I need to convince him of the value of the project or it's just not worth bringing him on."

"Who said the checking would do anything but that? I wasn't saying I was going to offer to break his knees or anything."

"I need to do it," Sam insisted. He dried his hands off and joined Al at the table leaving the dishes for later. "I need to sell him on the merits of this project – of my project. If I don't and you do the work to get him here, how do I know he'll respect the work I'm doing? I appreciate what you want to do, Al, don't think I don't. I just need to be the one to do this."

Al nodded. "Ok Sam, we'll play it your way, but if you need me for anything on this, you know I'm behind you 100."

"I know that." Sam's eyes took on mischievous twinkle. "And if I need any kneecaps broken, I know where to go."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sam spent most of Wednesday engaging in a bizarre game of "keep away" with Dr. Beeks. The majority of the time he spent in the lower levels getting the conduit in place for when the cabling finally arrived. The rest of the time, Al ran interference for him.

A little before 2:00, he emerged from the bowels of the project to clean up and find Al so that he could leave for his appointment. He stopped by his office to check to see if there were any messages. When he saw Dr. Beeks waiting outside the door to his office, he breathed a sigh and thought about turning around and going in the other direction. He was prevented from his escape when she turned around and saw him.

"Ah. Doctor Beckett." She had a disarming smile on her face.

"Dr. Beeks." Sam put on what he hoped was a genuine smile on his face as he greeted the woman then tried to slip around her and into his office. "I'm sorry but I really don't have any time right now."

She paused for a few moments as if processing that information. "You haven't had anytime since I arrived." Her face took on a look as if saying that she was in the same boat. "I'm on a break from HR. Molly said she needed to find one of the safety modules I've been put on a schedule to watch and I thought I might catch you for a least a few minutes."

Sam made a show of looking at his watch then pushed as politely as he could past the psychiatrist. "I'd really like to but I have do have to run. I have an appointment at 3:30 at the medical building in town and I need to get ready."

Dr. Beeks asked, "What type of appointment?"

"Uh...it's a...it's a consultation." Sam wasn't sure just how much he wanted to share with the woman right now. He had a feeling Weitzman would not take kindly to the news that the Project Director was going to be taking time off - again - for medical reasons. Still, she was bound to find out what was going on so he decided it was better to be up front now. "It's with an ENT I've been referred to. My primary care physician's recommended I have a tonsillectomy."

"Tonsillectomy?" She considered that. "That's usually not done at your age unless there are compelling reasons like recurring infections."

"I've had three strep infections in three months. Dr. Master's feels it's best that I undergo the procedure to prevent anymore," Sam explained with an edge to his voice. He was starting to envision how this was going to play out - that he was using any excuse he could find to take time off. "If you'd like, I can have him forward a letter explaining his findings and recommendation to be put in my personnel file."

"If you wish, but I don't think that will be necessary." Dr. Beeks paused. "Is there some time we can set up..."

Around the corner, Al's form came into view. He was facing Dr. Beeks' back but Sam was able to see his face. He had obviously noticed the new doctor and was moving quickly to intercede on Sam's behalf. "Hey, Sam. We better get going. We have that appointment to make."

"Uh, yeah, Al. I just need to get changed." Sam brushed at his shirt, which looked a little worse for wear after a day of laying conduit. "I'll meet you outside in about fifteen minutes." He started to make his way back to the bank of elevators then remembered why he'd been going to his office and turned back around. "Jenny, can you email me any phone messages that came in today?" he asked the woman sitting at the desk outside of his office. "I'm going to be spending the night at my house and I'll take care of them when I get there after the appointment." He didn't wait for an acknowledgement before heading once again for the elevators. He barely nodded in acknowledgement of Dr. Beeks.

Dr. Beeks turned to the Admiral. "You're going with Dr. Beckett to his medical consultation as well?" She had her head tilted as if she thought this was interesting.

Al watched Sam quickly use the short break in Beeks attention to make his getaway. "Yeah. Since we're partners, it's good that we each know what's going on with the other." He figured that sounded like a reasonable excuse for his being there. "You'll excuse me?" He started walking towards his own office. Dr. Beeks obviously was still interested in carrying on this conversation as she followed him.

Walking beside him she asked,"So do you go to all of Dr. Beckett's medical appointments?" When reviewing Sam's file, Dr. Beeks had noticed the numerous notations of medical incidents.

"Not all of them," Al said, holding information close to the vest.

"Oh," Dr. Beeks asked with an arched brow. It sounded like there was something here. "So do you just go to the routine ones with him? I would think Dr. Beckett could brief you on any pertinent information from his appointment without your presence. Unless there's some other reason..." She let her voice trail off in an unasked question.

"Listen," Al said with somewhat narrowed eyes, "I sometimes am present at Dr. Beckett's appointments. Sometimes I'm not. I really don't think whether I'm there or not is pertinent. I just explained, we need to know what's going on so that the project can run smoothly. I just think there's less chance of miscommunication if I'm there as well."

Dr. Beeks held her hands up warding off the anger coming from Al. "I didn't intend to insinuate anything, Admiral. I just thought it was interesting, that's all." She started to walk up the hall to return to HR. "Can you tell Dr. Beckett I'd still like a chance to speak with him?"

"Yeah. Sure," Al said amicably to her, at least on the surface. He watched her walk away, still certain she was a mole for Weitzman. He turned and went into his office.

Dr. Beeks shook her head slightly but didn't say anything as she continued to HR. She knew the chances of Admiral Calavicci conveying her desire to have some time with Dr. Beckett was about as good as an ice cream cone's chances on the sun. She wasn't sure what but she had the sneaking suspicion that something was up. It seemed everyone was doing their very best to keep her from spending any substantial time with Dr. Beckett although they were being mostly open and she was sure nothing was being hidden from her. The only thing that seemed off limits was Dr. Beckett himself. As she thought about that, she realized today's situation provided a small glimmer of hope. Since he was gone for the rest of the day, maybe that meant Molly would release her from anymore of the safety modules she'd been viewing.

QLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQLQL

Al read the latest copy of Newsweek that seemed to be the standard in most doctors' offices. He wondered if Sam would ask for him to come in to talk with the doctor after the examination. He wasn't going to push it but he really hoped it would happen.

Almost as soon as he had the thought, the nurse called over the desk, "Admiral Calavicci?"

Al stood up and went to speak with her. "Yes, that's me."

"Your friend has asked for you to join him. Go through that door. The office is the second door on your left."

Al nodded and went back. He couldn't help the small smile that now graced his face. Finding the door in question, he knocked.

"Come in," a woman's voice called.

The door opened and Al came into the office. Dr. Sanders was sitting behind a well-appointed desk. An older woman, she looked like she'd be as much at home giving her grandchildren milk and cookies as she was in the office.

Sam was sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk. Although he was trying to look relaxed, his bouncing knee gave away his nervousness. "Um...this is my friend, Al Calavicci," he said by way of introduction when Al took the seat next to him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Calavicci," Dr. Sanders said pleasantly as she extended her hand across the desk to him.

Al took her hand. "Admiral Calavicci, Dr. Sanders," he corrected gently. "It's nice to meet you." He looked at Sam's leg bouncing and decided to cut straight to the chase. "So, what's the verdict?

"Of course, you're an admiral. Sam just told me that a moment ago." Dr. Sanders took her glasses off and put them down on the desk in front of her. "The verdict," she continued with a small smile in Al's direction, "is that I concur with Dr. Masters. The likelihood of Sam continuing to come down with strep infections is high. Although the tonsillectomy is not going to be a miracle cure for that, it will lower the occurrences significantly. Instead of looking at a monthly occurrence, it would be more on the order of once a year."

This news wasn't what Al was expecting. He quickly asked, "So Sam's going to get strep once a year? It's there anything to stop that?"

"I don't think that's what she means," Sam corrected. He shifted in the seat but as soon as he was still again, his leg resumed its bouncing. "I think it's just the likelihood of it." He looked to Dr. Sanders for confirmation.

"That's exactly it, Sam," Dr. Sanders agreed. "There's no way to guarantee that he won't get a strep infection any more than I can guarantee you won't get one. It'll just reduce the likelihood of it significantly." She opened the folder on her desk and scanned the top sheet. "Now, as I've explained to Sam, although Dr. Masters and I both recommend the procedure, it's still up to him to make the decision. However, if he elects not to have it done, the likelihood of frequent infections remains as well as the chance that one of those infections can end up developing into something much worse."

As the doctor spoke, the agitation apparent in Sam's leg increased. Al put his hand out to calm the younger man. "Well, we don't want that, right Sam?"

Sam weakly smiled in Al's direction when he felt the hand stopping his leg from moving. When Al withdrew his hand, he made a conscious effort to keep still. "Uh, no. I guess not."

"Then you'll have the surgery, right?" Al asked. He turned to Dr. Sanders. "I'll help Sam in any way I can."

A short nod was Sam's only answer. "When...uh...when do you want to do it?" he asked the doctor.

"I'd like to do it as soon as possible," Sanders answered. "The longer we wait, the more likely you'll come down with another infection. Right now you've responded well to your last round of antibiotics so I think the sooner, the better." She reached for the phone on the corner of the desk. "Let me just check with my scheduler and see when there's an opening."

Al gave the kid a grin. "We'll have things back to normal in no time."

Dr. Sanders spoke briefly on the phone then put it on hold. "I can schedule you a week from today. Would that work for you?"

Sam exchanged a quick glance with Al then nodded at the doctor. "Uh, yeah. Next week will work." He'd been hoping to get more than just a week.

"Good." Dr. Sanders got on the phone again and finished making the arrangements to schedule the surgery. Once she was done, she turned back to the two men. "Now, do either of you have any questions for me?"

"What time does he need to be at the hospital and how long will he have to stay?" Al queried.

Dr. Sanders couldn't help but smile at the forthright manner of her patient's friend. "When you leave, Jeanine will have the paperwork at the desk with all the information regarding the time and such. She'll also set up the appointment for the pre-op testing. We should be able to do this as day surgery barring any complications."

Sam nodded slightly but held back from asking any questions. Most of what Dr. Sanders was telling them he knew. He could also answer most of the questions he knew Al was going to ask but felt it would be best coming from the doctor sitting behind the desk.

Al bit his lip. He didn't want to say anything, but Sam had a way of finding those complications and living them. "Um...ok. Day surgery sounds good to me. He'll be able to sleep in his own bed afterwards." At the strange look that Dr. Sanders gave him, he explained, "Sam doesn't like it when he has to stay in the hospital."

Dr. Sanders laughed gently. "None of my patients do so he won't be the first." Her laughter faded away. "I'm not going to sugar-coat this and say it's a routine procedure. I don't look at any surgical procedure as being routine. It's going to be done under general anesthesia and there are risks inherent with that. Everything will be done to minimize those risks but they can't be completely obliterated. The chances of anything going wrong are very slim but those chances do still exist."

Again, Sam nodded slightly. If Al really pressed, he could enumerate on what all of those risks were but, personally, he'd rather not think about them.

"I understand you'll be with Sam when he goes home after the surgery," Dr. Sanders asked Al.

"Yeah. I'll be with Sam. As I said, anything he needs."

"Good." Again, Dr. Sanders flipped through the folder. "I see that you had a Bankart's Lesion repair a few years ago that was also done as day surgery." She looked over to Al, "Were you with Sam after that procedure?"

"Yeah. You should have heard him right before I took him home." He laughed quietly. "Is he gonna be that goofy again."

"Most likely." Again, Dr. Sanders was amused by apparent friendship between the two men. "You have some idea of what to expect then. He should not be left alone that day and most likely the next either and definitely no operating a motor vehicle." She looked over to Sam. "Did you experience any side effects from the anesthesia that time?"

"Oh yeah," Sam quickly answered. "I think I saw the gum I swallowed as a kid." He tried to suppress a shudder as he thought about how that would feel after the surgery. Dr. Sanders had already warned him that he'd be in a good deal of pain. He didn't want to think what it would feel like to be vomiting as well.

Al looked at his friend in sympathy. "Ah, Kid. Maybe that won't happen this time."

"Sure and maybe the sun won't set," Sam answered in resignation.

"Unfortunately, Sam's probably right," Dr. Sanders said. "I can give you a prescription, though, in case you do experience any nausea. As a matter of fact, I'm going to give you all of your prescriptions before you leave today. I suggest you have them filled before next Wednesday."

Al nodded. "They'll be filled today unless there's a reason to hold up."

"No, there's no reason at all to hold off on filling them." She pulled a prescription pad from one of the drawers and began writing on it. "Any more questions?" she asked glancing up.

Sam shook his head no. She'd covered all of his questions before Al had joined them but knew his friend would probably have a few more. "Al?"

"How long will Sam be out of commission, so to speak?"

"He'll probably miss at least a week of work and after that; he's going to have to take it easy for another couple of weeks. He can't be doing anything strenuous or any lifting until the surgical area has healed or it could cause bleeding." She leaned back in the chair once she'd filled out the last prescription. "Honestly, he's not going to want to do anything for at least a week. Tonsillectomies tend to be quite a bit more painful in adults than children so he'll most likely be taking stronger painkillers for at least a week - maybe longer."

"But you're giving him something for nausea." Al added in explanation, "Strong meds make him sick too."

"I'm giving him Phenegran for nausea. If the Percocet causes too much of a problem, we can try something else."

"I...um...I'm not so sure I should be doing this right now," Sam interrupted softly. He hadn't expected the additional two-week ban on strenuous activity or lifting. "I'm not sure if I have enough time for the recovery period. My work...I don't think I can take that much time away from it," he tried to explain.

"Sam, you heard Dr. Sanders," Al protested. "Without this surgery, you could get sick again and maybe come down with something worse. The recovery period is likely to be shorter than what you'd have if that happened."

"But we don't know that," Sam insisted. His leg started to bounce again in agitation. "We're talking about a lot of 'ifs' here. None of us know what's going to happen." He turned pleading eyes on the doctor. "What if we just delay a couple of months? Let me get my work to a point where I can be gone that long."

Dr. Sanders gazed at him pointedly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Sam. There's too much of a risk that you'll get another strep infection except this one could develop into something much worse like pneumonia. Given you past medical history, I'm not sure it's a risk you should really take."

Al nodded. "Yeah, Sam." He'd back the doctor 100 percent. Knowing Sam's track record as well, he was sure that worse would come to pass.

Sam was caught between a rock and hard place. No matter what choice he made, he was sure it was going to be the wrong one. "Ok," he said in resignation. "I'll do it."

Al noted the look of resignation on his friend's face. "Hey, don't worry. I've told you. Everything is going to be fine."

Sam nodded slightly but he didn't feel the confidence Al seemed to.

Al looked at Dr. Sanders again. "Anything else I should know about since I'll be taking care of him while he's not able to do so himself? I mean, special diet, temperature, that kind of stuff?"

"All of that will be in the information Jeanine will have for you." Dr. Sanders looked between the two men. "I suggest you read it, even if you think you know all that's in it." As she said the last, she looked firmly at Sam. "To answer your question about diet, there's no special one. What he eats will be totally up to what Sam can tolerate. For the first week or so, that probably won't be much more than soft foods and for the first couple of days it'll probably be only liquids." She looked directly at Sam. "It's very important that you keep up your fluid intake no matter how much discomfort there might be."

"Yeah, Sam, so don't give me any trouble when I push the liquids, ok?"

"I know I need to drink," Sam said with a sigh. "I'm not an idiot you know," he snapped looking over to Al.

Dr. Sanders was taken aback at the way Sam snapped at Al but didn't say anything. She understood the situation was stressful and probably accounted for his short temper.

"I never said you were," Al said. "I was only saying so 'cause you can be so stubborn at times."

Yet again Sam was using Al as the object to take his frustration out on and immediately regretted doing so. "I know. I'm sorry." He turned to Dr. Sanders embarrassed that the woman had witnessed his outburst. "Please excuse my behavior."

"It's quite all right, Sam. I'm sure you're feeling a bit stressed right now."

Al noticed that Sam's leg had started bouncing again. "I'd say that's a good call."

"Well, it is to be expected." Dr. Sanders leaned over the desk and handed Sam the prescriptions he'd need. As he took them from her hand, she explained what they were. "There are four prescriptions. I'd like you to continue on an anti-biotic until the surgery to make sure there are no other infections in the next week. In addition to the Percocet and Phenergran, there's also another anti-biotic that you'll have to take after the surgery. As I said, I suggest you have them filled before next Wednesday. I don't think you want to get home and find yourself in pain only to have to wait until the prescription is ready."

"No, Ma'am," Sam agreed. He glanced at the four slips of paper then folded them to put in his pocket.

Al made a mental note to remind Sam to the prescriptions if need be. Otherwise, he'd just let the kid handle it. Sam didn't need any more stress; that was for certain.

"Well, if neither of you have anymore questions, I'll be seeing you both next week." Dr. Sanders rose from behind the desk and came around it as both Sam and Al stood as well. "It was a pleasure to meet both of you gentleman."

Al put his hand out. "It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Dr. Sanders."

Dr. Sanders shook Al's hand then Sam's. "Jeanine will have all of your paperwork and she'll get you set up for the pre-op testing." She walked the two men to the door and opened it for them.

The two men left the office and went over to receptionist's desk. She handed Sam the sheaf of paperwork he'd need then made the appointment for him to come in two days before the surgery for his pre-op testing.

As they headed out the door, Al gave Sam a look. "You want to go straight home, pick up something for dinner, or eat out?" He figured that as simple as these choices were, they'd at least let Sam know he was in control of some part of his life.

"I don't care," Sam responded as they waited for the elevator. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me."

Al shrugged. "I'm open." He thought. "You want me to make some manicotti?"

The elevator doors opened and they got in. "Honestly, Al, just do whatever you want. I really don't care."

Al sighed. "Ok, Kid." He was quiet during the ride down but kept glancing over at Sam, not sure what was going on in his noggin, but concerned with how the stress had recently been affecting him.

Sam felt Al's eyes on him and kept waiting for him to say something but nothing came. "Stop looking at me like you're waiting for my head to start spinning like Linda Blair and just spit out." There was no rancor in Sam's voice, just a bit of resignation.

"It's not like that Sam. I'm just concerned with how all this is affecting you. The surgery, Weitzman, the shrink, Motts, the cabling - it's like everything has hit you at once."

"How's it affecting me?" Sam asked conversationally. The elevator doors opened and he walked out with Al behind him. "I'm just having the time of my life," he continued sarcastically. "When I was a little kid dreaming about what to do with my life, this was always my fondest dream." He looked back at Al. "You tell me how it's affecting me."

"Ok. You're edgy and snapping one minute and then you switch and seem somewhat apathetic the next. I know this isn't what you'd like. Hell, I don't want it for you either, but you'll get through this too. You always have when push comes to shove."

"Thanks, Al," Sam said sarcastically. "That's just what I needed. My best friend to tell me I'm turning into a total basket case. Let's get Beeks and we can make it official."

Al rolled his eyes. "No. That's not what I'm saying. You're a normal human being, genius or not. That means when stuff starts piling on, you get stressed. That's normal, damn it!" He sighed, "But you're right, Weitzman's probably sent in a ringer to argue it's not normal. We're not going to let him win."

"Look, can we just forget all about this just for tonight. Let's just forget my body's gone on strike and Weitzman's convinced my mind's following suit, ok. Geez, I'm starting to forget what it's like to just have a normal day with normal worries." They got to the Jeep and Sam unlocked the doors. As he got in, he slammed the door shut. "You might think this is normal but I sure as hell don't think this is what happens to most "normal" people." He used his finger to draw quotations in the air as he said the word normal.

Al looked at Sam a long minute before responding. "Yeah, Sam, this is normal. Sometimes things just happen in a relatively short span of time. You're not immune."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Look, just forget about it ok. If you want to make manicotti, great, I'll eat. I love it. I can't get enough of it. Ok? Was that interested enough?"

Al figured pushing it right now wasn't helping. "Ok, Kid. Manicotti it is."

Sam looked over to Al and shook his head slightly. His friend just didn't get it yet and he once again was doing whatever he thought he should to just smooth over the situation. "Al, you're doing it again, you know." He did his best to keep resignation out of his voice.

"What?" asked Al innocently not sure what Sam could be talking about this time. The kid was usually on him about letting him make his own decision and that's what he was doing so there'd be no reason for Sam to be accusing him of taking over this time.

"This is when you're supposed to tell me I'm acting like an ass but instead you're just humoring me again. That's what." Sam pointed the Jeep in the direction of house. He glanced quickly at Al. "You can't honestly sit there and tell me you don't think I'm acting like an ass."

"Well...I tried to point that out in a gentle way. You didn't seem to take kindly to it." Al stopped for a beat. "And yeah, for the record, you're being an ass."

"Thank you," Sam responded sincerely. "That's what I wanted to hear. You know, it's a lot easier for me to stop being one if someone tells me that's what I'm doing instead of tap dancing all around it. You know, just 'cause I'm a genius doesn't mean I can also read minds and figure out what you mean." He made a quick decision, checked traffic and, since nothing was coming, made a u-turn in the road. "Now that we've got it cleared up that I'm acting like an ass, I'm going to the Hungry Dragon and I'm going to get some take out for dinner. No offense but I really don't want manicotti."

Al shook his head. "Only you, Sam. Only you."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The days after the consultation flew by quickly. At the project, Sam did his best to avoid the new psychiatrist and Al ran interference when it looked like she was going to get a shot at him. He also suggested Sam go home at night instead staying at the project and giving Dr. Beeks a shot at him at night.

The one time they'd tried to stay at the project, Beeks had stood outside Sam's door for over an hour waiting for him to return. Al had suggested using one of the quarters not assigned yet to hole up. That had worked for that night but they figured trying it again wouldn't be wise. Thus, they had been driving back to Socorro each night.

Outside of work, they'd filled the prescriptions and did the pre-op work. It was the day before Sam had to check into the hospital. He had to go back and have the EKG re-done. Dr. Sanders had called late yesterday afternoon to tell Sam there'd been something strange found in the one that had been done. There was a very good chance it could have been the equipment malfunctioning but they had to re-do the test to be sure.

They had awoken as usual and gotten ready for the day. Sam seemed more agitated than normal and Al decided to act. "You know, we don't need to go into work today. You need to be at the hospital this afternoon. Why don't we just stay home?"

"I don't think I can just stay home and do nothing." Sam was pacing the kitchen and would stop every now and then to put something away or move something on the counters. "I don't know what they saw in that EKG yesterday that they have to do it again. I've never had any cardiac problems and now they have to repeat it."

"Sam," Al intercepted the younger man on another circuit of the kitchen and put his hands on his shoulders to stop him. "Dr. Sanders just wants to make sure there is nothing wrong. Maybe there was just some kind of glitch in the machine. Wouldn't you rather they do the test again to make sure there's nothing wrong instead of just taking a risk?"

Sam broke away from Al's restraining hold and continued to roam the kitchen restlessly. "So if it was the machine, how are we supposed to know it's not going to do the same thing again? So what then? I get admitted and spend the night hooked up to a heart monitor? Yeah, that's really going to keep me calm and rested. And what if they don't like the reading tomorrow morning? They just send me on my way? That's a real waste of time."

"They don't want to do the surgery if it puts you at risk. If there were something wrong with your heart, wouldn't you rather know about it? Not knowing isn't going to make it go away."

"I know all that, Al. I just don't know how they expect me to have a normal EKG if I'm worried about what it's going to be." As he passed by the stools at the island, Sam sat down on one of them. His body was slumped in dejection. "I thought I was actually going to get out of having to be admitted this time but it's looking like that's not going to happen."

"You don't know that's going to happen and, look at it this way," Al tried to console, "If you do get admitted, you'll already be there for all the meds and stuff. We won't need to take you in early."

"Oh, so that makes it better. I'd rather just get up early and spend the night in my own bed." Sam got up and went to the stove checking to see if there was water in the kettle. Finding it empty, he went to the sink to fill it. "So you gonna stay here tonight if I get admitted or go back to your place?"

"Don't know. My place is closer to the hospital so probably there if you get admitted."

Sam started to pull out what he'd need to make tea. "I think I'm gonna call up and cancel." He was careful not to look at Al as he made his intention known. "I feel fine so why go through all this and make myself feel bad and get behind? Cold and flu season's almost over. If this happens again next year then I'll do it and by then things will be on track and I'll have time." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Al or himself.

"Kid, you heard the doctor. That wouldn't be wise. You know if the shoe was on my foot, you'd be telling me to get my ass in the hospital and just get it over with." Al switched gears back to his original point. "In any case, why don't we just not go in today? I do have something I've wanted to do. While Frank is working on getting me the new car, I found a 1962 Corvette I want to check out." He figured that would keep Sam's mind off the hospital stay.

"If the shoe was on the other foot and you didn't want to go, you'd tell me to mind my own business," Sam pointed out. "Ok," he said taking a deep breath. "Where's this Corvette you want to check out? If you're going to insist I do this, I need to be at the hospital by 3:30."

"Like that would stop you," Al mumbled. "It's on the Jemez Pueblo about two and a half hours from here. Seems like they bought this car years ago and it's hardly been used. And it's cherry red, Sam," he said as if he was a kid in a toy store.

Sam smiled despite his own misgivings of the day as he found his friend's delight contagious. "What is it with you and red cars?" he asked fondly.

"They just look so exciting and the babes love them," Al said as if it was obvious.

"You don't change, do you?" Sam turned off the stove and put the mug and teabag he'd taken out away. "Ok. Let's go look at this car and then...maybe I'll think about going to the hospital." Despite what he was saying, Sam knew that that's exactly where he'd be going this afternoon. He might not want to go into the hospital and he might be putting up an argument about it, but he knew it really was for the best.

"Deal," said Al. He figured that Sam was just asserting his normal stubbornness but that ultimately his medical training and logic would come through. He figured they'd be back right about the time Sam needed to be at the hospital so the trip would keep the kid's mind off of that. "So, what do you say, head out of here about 8:00?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said without much enthusiasm. "It's better than just sitting around and waiting."

The two men spent the next thirty minutes getting ready. As they left, the day looked to be a beautiful one, blue skies and sunshine. There was a breeze coming in from the west, but nothing that would indicate any problems. The drive up to Jemez Pueblo went fine and Al was able to give Sam directions to the small house a ways from the main road. As they pulled up to the house, a dark haired, short man - obviously Native American - walked out. "You the guys that want to see the Corvette?

Al spoke first, putting his hand out. "Yeah. You must be Mr. Roundtree. I'm Al Calavicci and this is my friend, Sam Beckett."

"Hi. Nice to meet you," Sam said as he put his hand out to the man.

"You can call me Juan," the man said during the greetings. Afterwards he turned to a rather ramshackle building. "Well, the car's in the shed over here. It was my Dad's. He passed on recently and no one in the family wants the car. We figured we'd just sell it."

Al nodded. "I understand. You said in the ad that the car's barely been driven."

Sam hung back and let Al follow Juan before he followed along as well.

Juan smiled and nodded to their surroundings. "This place look like a speedway to you? It's hard enough getting around the area in four wheel drives, much less a sports car." He looked over to Sam's Jeep. "You have any trouble getting here?"

"No, Sir. No problems at all," Sam responded.

"Good." He looked up, noticing clouds coming in. "I hope your luck holds."

Sam also eyed the clouds. The road hadn't been bad coming in but he had a feeling that wouldn't hold true if the storm that looked like it was coming in really did. Rain would turn the road into a mud pit and even with the Jeep's four-wheel drive, it wouldn't be easy driving. "Me too," he agreed.

They reached the shed and Juan opened the door. Inside was a cherry red two-seater Corvette. The car looked to be in mint condition. Al's mouth dropped. "She's beautiful!" He moved quickly over to the vehicle and looked at Juan. "Mind if I get in?"

Juan shook his head. "Sure. Not a problem."

Al slid in behind the steering wheel. He ran his hand along the leather seats. "Your father really took care of this car from the looks of it."

Juan nodded. "Yeah. Washed and waxed it every week whether it needed it or not. Dad really loved this car. He kept up the engine as well."

"Hey, Sam, pop the hood. You're pretty good at engines. What do you think?"

As Al got in the car, Sam leaned against the doorway of the shed looking out at the sky and the fast moving clouds. "Mr. Roundtree, how bad does this road get?" he asked in both curiosity and concern ignoring Al's request. He might not want to go to the hospital this afternoon but if he had to, he'd rather not be late.

Juan turned away from Al and walked over to where Sam was standing. "Well, it can get slippery."

When the hood wasn't opened, Al finally took his gaze off the vehicle and noticed that Sam was still at the door of the shed and that the seller of the car had joined him. He got out and walked over. "What's going on?"

"That look like it's moving in fast to you?" Sam asked pointing at a line of dark clouds. The beautiful day seemed to be taking a turn in the other direction.

Juan shrugged. "I doubt it's going to be a bad storm. Usually they only last about thirty minutes or so." As he spoke, the first drops started falling.

Al noticed the moisture. "Nothing we can do about it now. Come on over, Sam. Help me check this car out."

"Ok," Sam agreed. He gave one last, worried look at the rain falling outside and joined Al at the car. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pop the hood. I want to check out the engine. You're pretty good at that."

"Yeah, sure." Sam opened the hood of the car and leaned in looking at the engine. "Can you start it?" he asked wanting to hear how it ran.

Al turned over the engine. It started right up and to his ears hummed along wonderfully.

After looking under the hood for a couple of minutes as the engine ran, Sam signaled for Al to turn it off. "Looks good to me," he said as he closed the hood.

Al smiled, thinking what a find this was. He had already started thinking of what he'd offer the man. A car like this was valuable and he knew that someone would show up and try to take the man on the cheap. He wouldn't do that. He'd fought for the civil rights movement in his youth and wasn't going to turn tailcoat now. He figured he'd start with what the guy wanted. "Juan, I'd like to buy your car. I'm wondering what you'd sell it to me for."

While Al started to negotiate buying the car, Sam went back to the doorway of the shed. The rain was still falling and what he could see of the road from where he was, looked like it was already turning into a mess.

When the man mentioned that since the car was so old, it probably wasn't worth much, Al closed his eyes and shook his head. He felt moral bound to at least give the guy a lesson in the value of the car. "Juan, trust me, this car is worth more than you think it is. I'll offer you 40,000 for it." Al knew that it was possible the kid could get more, but he knew he was offering more than what the guy would have asked for. He felt it was a fair offer."

"40,000! Really?" Juan questioned in excitement.

"Yeah. Really."

"Sold! I didn't think I could get that much for it."

"Great. I'll have to get a loan on it, but that shouldn't be a problem. We can sign a letter of intent now and I'll have the money to you within a couple of days."

"All right." Juan walked off to get a pad of paper so they could write up the pre-contract. He ran through the rain to the house.

Sam smiled and shook his head slightly as he listened to the negotiations, if they could be called that, going on behind him. Al could have had the car for a song and dance but his big heart wouldn't let him take advantage of Roundtree that way. That quality was one of the main reasons Sam had been drawn to Al as a friend.

Al walked over to Sam. "We'll be ready to leave soon, Kid. I just bought the car."

"I heard. Anyone ever tell you how honest you are? You could have had it for a grand if you wanted."

"Yeah, but that wouldn't have been fair to Juan or his family and I know what it's like to be poor. Besides, I still got a good deal for it."

As Juan came back to the shed, the rain stopped. He smiled at Sam. "See, I said it wouldn't last long."

"Yeah, I guess it didn't last long." Sam still looked out to the road dubiously. He just had a funny feeling that he couldn't shake.

Al and Juan drew up the letter of intent and both signed it, Sam being a witness. As Al and Sam headed out to the Jeep to head back, Juan closed up the shed. "I'll take care of the car for you, Mr. Calavicci and thanks!"

Al smiled. "Yeah. I'll get the loan in place and come up to get the car. See you in a couple of days." He knew Sam wouldn't be able to drive up with him but figured that Tina would probably bring him up.

Once back in the Jeep, Sam started for the dirt road that would take them back to the main roadways. It didn't take long on the road before both men realized just how bad it got after a storm. Sam was doing all he could to keep Jeep from slipping in the mud despite the fact that it had four-wheel drive.

They were about halfway up the road when the Jeep began to slide again. This time, Sam wasn't able to stop the slide and it went off the side of the road. "You ok," he asked looking over to Al.

Al nodded. "Yeah. How about you?"

"Fine. This road's pretty bad." Sam tried to get the Jeep back on the road but the tires only spun ineffectually when accelerated. "We're stuck," he said surprised. "First the snow bank and now this."

"Yeah," said Al, dejectedly. "Still, it could be worse. I don't have a broken leg this time so I can help push and it's not freezing outside."

"Don't get all Pollyanna on me," Sam grumbled as he got out of the Jeep and walked to the back of it. "The back tires look like they're sunk in pretty good."

"Hey, I'm just saying. We're not as bad off as we were then." Al got out as well and looked at what Sam was talking about. "I bet we can get it unstuck pretty quickly."

"Sure we can," Sam agreed with little enthusiasm.

Al's eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "You got a chain in this thing?"

"Chain? Why am I going to have a chain?"

"Cause you have a 4 wheel drive? I thought all you 4-wheelers kept them in the back."

"4-Wheeler? In case you've missed it, I don't exactly spend a lot of time driving around in the wilds." Sam went back into the Jeep and put it in neutral before again going to the back. He leaned against the rear of the vehicle and tried to get as good footing as he could in the slippery mud. "Just help me push." Without waiting for Al's consent, he gave as hard a push as he could. The only result was that his feet slipped out from under him in the mud and he landed in it with a splat.

Al had tried to push as well, but there was no traction for his feet. He fared better than Sam did, though. After the kid fell, he reached out a hand to pull him up. "I don't think this is going to work, Kid."

"You don't say." Sam reached to take Al's hand but instead of being pulled to his feet, Al also lost his balance. In an attempt to steady himself on the back of the Jeep, he let go of Sam who once again landed in the mud. "Sorry, Kid. You ok."

"Yeah," Sam said in disgust. "I'm just dandy." He rolled over to his knees and pulled himself up on the back of the Jeep. He brushed at the mud that now coated him but it did no good.

Al looked around. "Maybe if we get some wood to give us some traction."

"That might be a good idea." Sam looked around as well. "You wanna go get some, I'll be here waiting."

"You're not going to get some too?" Al asked, confused.

"Of course I'm going to get some too. I'd like nothing better than to go tramping through the mud." Sam made one more attempt to wipe some of the mud from his clothes. "It's not like I can get much muddier." He turned away from Jeep, took two steps and lost his footing again. This time, he landed face down in the mud.

Al's mouth flew open as Sam fell. He rushed over to the kid and started to pull him up. However, since he was now standing in the mud, his movements caused the opposite to happen. This time he fell as well. Since Sam was in exactly the spot he was falling towards, he landed on his friend.

"Oomph," Sam gasped as Al landed on him. He pulled his face up from the mud and pulled in a ragged breath. "Get off," he gasped.

Al moved as quickly as he could off of Sam. "I guess that didn't help much, huh?

."

Sam couldn't say anything at first as he drew in ragged breaths. "You think?" He eventually was able to catch his breath and sat up in the mud. "How the hell do we get into these things?"

Shrugging Al quipped with a bit of sarcasm, "Just lucky that way?"

Sam looked at Al at first in anger but slowly that anger gave way to the humor of the situation and he began to laugh. "How are we going to get out of this one?" he asked when he got his laughter under control.

The two men spent the next three hours trying different plans to get the Jeep out of the mud to no avail. In fact, if anything, the Jeep just sank deeper. They were tired, muddy, and depressed as they gave up. Just as they did, the sound of another vehicle could be heard along the road. Coming around the corner was an old Toyota Pathfinder. It came to a stop a few feet from the Jeep. An older man stepped out and looked at the two of them. "Had a little trouble?"

Al looked over to Sam and then back at the elder native of the Pueblo. "You might say that, yeah."

"Want some help?"

"We'd appreciate that," Sam said gratefully. He'd been fretting for the last two hours he was not going to be able to make the appointment for the EKG.

"Ok." The man said heading back to his Landcruiser. He went to the back of the vehicle and pulled out a chain. Attaching it to the front enhanced bumper of his 4-wheel drive, he attached the other end to the front of Sam's. "You might want to get in and steer." was all the man said.

Sam nodded and went to the driver's door. He hesitated for just a second thinking of how much mud he was going to end up getting in the Jeep then shrugged it off and climbed in. "All set, he called out."

Backing up, the Landcruiser slowly pulled the Jeep out of the mire. Five minutes after the old man's arrival, Sam's vehicle was once again on the road.

"Thanks, a lot," Sam told the man getting out of the Jeep. He reached for his wallet in his back pocket. A little mud had seeped in and Sam had to gingerly open it. "Can I give you something for helping us out?"

The old man nodded. "Ten dollars." He waited until Sam had paid him and then retrieved his chain.

They thanked the man again before he drove off. "I'm never going to get there in time," Sam said as they got back in the Jeep. "Damn it. This is all just going to get postponed again anyway."

"Maybe they'll still do the EKG. It's not like you planned this."

"We'll be lucky if we get there by 5:00. I have a 3:30 appointment. I'm not the only one you know." Sam started the Jeep and started to drive carefully up the road not wanting to chance getting stuck again. "I should have just cancelled it like I wanted to. I shouldn't have even agreed to it anyway."

Al shook his head. "Sam, you know you need this. You've beat the odds so far not getting anything worse than strep. We won't know if you can still do the EKG until you get there. There's still a good possibility this will work out."

"Because my track record's been so good up 'til now," Sam replied sourly. "At least we know one thing after all this. There can't be anything wrong with my heart or I would have keeled over on you back there."

"Don't talk like that, Kid," Al said. He sighed. "I'm sorry I got you into this. I thought coming up here would be a good thing."

"Don't talk like what? I'd think that I didn't keel over was a good thing and this isn't you're fault. Like you said, we just get lucky."

"Well, yeah, I'm glad you didn't keel over. I'm just saying that would have been terrible and it doesn't help to tempt fate. However, if I hadn't suggested this trip you'd be at the hospital right now instead stressed out about this stuff."

"So I could be stressed out about that instead. Face it, either way I was going to be stressed." They drove up the road a short way in silence. "My Dad died of a coronary and so did my grandfather." Sam's voice was soft when he spoke. "That kind of stuff runs in families."

"That doesn't mean that's going to happen to you. You live a healthier lifestyle than either of them did. You said yourself, you father smoked, didn't exercise, and ate a high fat diet. That's not you, Kid."

"I know and I tell myself that all the time. Still, it if it were you, wouldn't you think about it?"

Al pursed his lips together. "I guess, but...," he paused and then said with more passion, "...it's not going to happen to you."

"You can't say that it won't just like I can't say that it will." Not wanting yet another conversation between them to spiral down to something morose, Sam tried for some humor. "Besides, it's too tame for me. I'd say I'd probably go in a plane crash but since I survived that...who knows."

Al smiled back. "I'll probably die in the arms of a beautiful woman."

As they reached the road, Sam's laughter could be heard in the Jeep in response to Al's comment. He was joined by Al.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Verbena Beeks sat at her new desk, reading through files. She still hadn't gotten a chance to visit with the two leads of the project, although she had met with a number of the other personnel. No matter whom she talked with though, they all were friendly but generally closed mouth. She sighed. This was a tough assignment. She wondered now if she should have followed Sarah's advice to take it.

She still felt the position was a plum one. From what Sarah had said, this was cutting edge stuff and the chance to work with Dr. Beckett didn't come knocking often. She'd done her research and knew he was truly a renaissance man.

So, at 3:30 that afternoon, when she'd gotten the call from the hospital asking where Dr. Beckett was, she was concerned. All her research showed that he was usually on time for things. She was sure the Admiral would help in that matter as well. Neither man had showed up at work that day. Thus, she decided to head home early and check out the hospital.

She walked into the outpatient department where Sam was supposed to be. "Has Dr. Beckett shown up yet?" she asked the nurse.

"No, he hasn't and we haven't heard from him yet either," the nurse responded. "And you are..."

"I'm the physician on call at his work." Verbena figured that was truthful. After all, the switchboard had transferred the call to her when they couldn't reach Dr. Beckett or the Admiral. The psychiatrist looked at her watch. She wondered what could be keeping Sam. Deciding after the long drive to freshen up, she turned to the nurse. "I'll be back in a bit. Can you point me to the restroom?"

The nurse gave the directions to Verbena. Wanting to leave on time, the nurse started getting things cleaned up before the end of the day. She was entering the information into the computer from one file when she heard two male voices. "Sam, would you stop? We made it."

"Made it? I'm over an hour and half late. We would have made it then - not now." Sam approached the desk. "Hi, my name's Sam Beckett. I had an appointment at 3:30 for an EKG." He brushed at the mud that had dried on his clothes. "I'm sorry I'm so late. I had some car trouble. I don't suppose there's anyway I can be fit in now is there?"

The nurse looked at him. "Well, sir, perhaps if you'd called..."

Al wasn't going to let that go. "We were no place near a phone. It wasn't possible to call."

"Al, I can handle this," Sam said turning to his friend. "I would have called if I was able," he said turning back to the nurse. "Like my friend said, though, there wasn't a phone I could use."

The nurse, whose nametag read 'Jenkins' shrugged. "And you want me to believe that," she said snidely.

"I don't care what you believe." Sam was doing all he could to reign in his temper. Alienating the woman would not help him right now. "I'm telling you the truth. I wasn't able to call. I know it's late but is there any way we can do this, please. I'm scheduled to have surgery tomorrow morning but I need to have the EKG first."

She looked him over. "The department closes at 5:30. It's 5:10 right now, I sincerely doubt..."

"That's twenty minutes," Sam interrupted. "I need to do this today or my surgery's going to be postponed. There's got to be some way."

Nurse Jenkins shook her head. "Well, perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided to go mud wrestling."

"I wasn't mud wrestling." Sam's voice started to get louder as he realized the woman wasn't willing to help him. "I told you, I had car problems. If you need to know, my car got stuck in the mud and I had to get it out. Now if you can't help me, find someone who can."

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Verbena Beeks was returning from the restroom, when she heard loud voices. She'd stood at the doorway from the hall, somewhat hidden from view from the desk. She heard enough to know that Dr. Beckett had been trying his best to make a bad situation less problematic. She pulled another nurse over. "Is there a Dr. Sander's here?"

Nurse Felcher nodded. "Let me get her for you."

Verbena returned to the doorway and listened some more while she waited.

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"Mr. Beckett," the nurse said haughtily, "What makes you think you can just come in almost 2 hours late and get your way?"

"I'm not asking to get my way," Sam nearly shouted. "I'm just asking if there's anything you can do to help me. I thought that's what hospitals were for - to help people. Do you think I want to be here? Do you think I think this is fun and games?"

"Sam, calm down," Al suggested tugging at Sam's arm when he started to get louder.

"I don't want to calm down," Sam barked pulling away from Al. "I just want to get this stupid thing done and over with.

"I know that, Kid, but getting upset and getting yourself kicked out is not the answer."

"I'm not going to get kicked out." Sam turned back to the nurse. "I just want to know what I need to get a little help." He slapped his hands down on the counter to make his point.

The nurse started to answer Sam when Al stepped in once more hoping to defuse the situation before his friend went ballistic. "Nurse Jenkins. My friend is just asking for some help here."

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"May I help you?" asked a voice next to Verbena. It was an older woman dressed in a lab coat. The nametag showed Dr. Sanders.

Verbena nodded. "Well, not so much me as him." He moved her head to indicate Dr. Beckett and the nurse.

Dr. Sanders looked in the direction indicated. "Ah, my wayward patient has finally shown up." She turned back to Verbena. "Do you mind if I ask what your relationship to Dr. Beckett is?"

"I'm the psychiatrist at his work. They called me when he didn't show up for the appointment." At the look on the older woman's face Verbena smiled. "The type of work he does requires a variety of scientists. I'm just one of many fields there. But in my professional opinion, I think it would be in his best interest to have the EKG today. Think that can still happen?"

Dr. Sanders looked back to where Sam was at the desk. She saw that he was getting flushed in anger and thought now would be a good time to step in. "I think I can work something out." She walked over to the desk. "Shelly, is there a problem here?" she asked.

Shelly Jenkins suddenly stood taller as she heard Dr. Sander's voice. "Um...no Dr. Sanders. We just have a patient here who is being unreasonable."

"Really," Dr. Sanders questioned. "In what way." She looked over to Sam taking in his disheveled state.

"It's 5:17 now. The department closes at 5:30 and he wants us to run his EKG."

"I don't think that's being unreasonable at all. I need to have Mr. Beckett's results tonight in order to determine whether or not his scheduled surgery needs to be postponed." She glanced over to Sam and gave him a reassuring smile. "Why don't you see about getting Mr. Beckett set up? I'm sure it won't keep the department open much past 5:30." She put a guiding hand on Sam's shoulder and moved him a slight way from the desk. "Why don't you sit down while Shelly gets you set up, Sam? Admiral, maybe you can get him a glass of water."

Al nodded. "Yeah." He looked over to the nurse wanting to let her have more than a piece of his mind but decided that would only make things worse. Sam's day hadn't been the peaceful drive he'd envisioned in the morning. He sure as hell didn't need this drama too. "C'mon, Sam, let's do like the doc said and sit down while she gets this taken care of."

Sam gave a short nod and let Al guide him over to one of the molded plastic seats and push him down to sit.

Spying a water bubbler a short distance off with some paper cups hanging next to it, Al said, "Sit tight and I'll get you that water." He hurried over, filled one of the cups, and brought it back to Sam. "Here you go, Kid," he said as he sat on the chair next to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said quietly as he took the cup. "I'm sorry I lost my temper."

"Hey, it's not a problem," Al assured him. "After the day you've had, it's no wonder you've got a short fuse and Atilla the Nurse over there just did a good job of lighting your fuse."

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Verbena remained concealed just out of sight of the two men and observed them. She saw the Admiral leaning over talking quietly to Dr. Beckett but wasn't able to make out anything he was saying. The physicist would nod in agreement with whatever his friend said every once and a while but other than that, he didn't say anything – just sipped at the water.

After a few minutes, she saw Dr. Beckett's body start to relax. The Admiral reached over then and she thought he was going to give him a friendly pat on the back. Instead, he started to rub up and down his friend's back while still talking softly and even more of the tension drained away from the younger man's body.

By the time Dr. Beckett was called in for the EKG, he was much calmer than when he'd first sat down and Verbena was sure she even caught a brief smile on his face as he got up.

There was definitely something between the two men that went deeper than just friendship. Just what that was, she wasn't sure but there was definitely more than met the eye with these two.

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The EKG went well and Sam was feeling pretty good about it all. He would have to wait for a few minutes until Dr. Sander's gave him the all clear, but the technician had shown him the read out and everything looked great to him. As he walked back to the waiting room to meet Al, he noticed someone else in the hall. "Dr. Beeks?" he asked, his voice somewhat tense.

"Ah, Dr. Beckett," she said smiling. "Is everything all right?"

"Um, yeah. I had an EKG to take care of." He paused for a moment. "Have you been here long?"

Beeks nodded. "I've been here a while. I had some business to take care of."

Sam took a breath, wondering if he might be the business she was referring to. "Well, I need to get back to Al. I have surgery tomorrow and my Doctor wants me to get some rest. You'll excuse me?"

Dr. Beeks nodded. "Yes. If you have surgery tomorrow, I'd concur you need rest. Sleep well, Dr. Beckett." With a smile, she turned and headed back down the hallway. It wasn't much of a meeting, but at least it felt like a start.

Sam watched as she walked down the hall. He shook his head and stepped into the waiting room. Seeing Al, he moved over towards him. "That was weird."

"What?" asked Al. "Something wrong with the EKG?"

"Um. No. I doubt it. I just saw Dr. Beeks."

"Dr. Beeks? What's she doing here?"

"She said she had business. Said she'd been here awhile. You think she saw me losing it?"

Al really hoped that wasn't the case. It would mean the woman had taken to spying on Sam. He didn't want to stress the kid anymore though. "Nah. It was probably just a coincidence," Al said with a voice that belied the suspicion he felt. He'd find out soon enough about the shrink. Right now, Sam was his focus.

A few minutes later, Dr. Sanders came out and gave Sam the all clear. "See you tomorrow. In the meantime, get some sleep."

Sam agreed to do just that and the two men left for Sam's final night of comfort before the tonsillectomy.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

For a change, Al was awake first. When he didn't see Sam up, he went into his friend's bedroom. "C'mon, Kid," he said shaking his shoulder. "Time to get up."

"No. I don't want to get up yet," Sam complained. "It's too early."

"It's not too early, Sam. You need to be at the hospital in an hour and a half. It's late, not early. Now get your butt in gear."

Grumpily, Sam threw the covers off and got out of bed. "I'd rather sleep, you know."

"I know you would, Kid," Al commiserated. "Being up at the butt crack of dawn's not my idea of fun either but you gotta do this."

"Yeah, whatever." Sam started to pull clothes out his dresser and closet. "I'm hungry," he groused. "I hate being hungry."

"You don't get to eat anything until later. Remember, nothing to eat after 8 last night."

"I know. It still stinks." To prove his point, his stomach chose to grumble. Sam took the clothes he'd pulled out and headed to bathroom to shower and get dressed.

Al sighed. "Hey, Kid. You may want to rethink what you're wearing to the hospital."

"Why?" Sam asked looking at the jeans and plaid flannel shirt he'd pulled out to wear. "This goes."

"Yeah. You'd match real well but I'm thinking about comfort. It'll be easier to get back into sweats after surgery than jeans and a shirt. As goofy as you'll be, you'll probably have a problem with coordination."

"You're the one who told me I look like a slob when I wear sweats and now you're telling me to wear them out?"

"Sam," Al stated dryly, "You're going to the hospital for surgery, not for a photo shoot for GQ." Smiling he added, "Just don't wear that ratty MIT sweatshirt."

"Fine," Sam huffed out. He put the shirt and jeans away and grabbed sweats instead then went into the bathroom. He came out fifteen minutes later clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a William and Mary sweatshirt. He went looking for Al in the kitchen. "Hope this meets your approval," he said as he came in the room.

Al looked up from his coffee and took note of what Sam had on. "You look great, Kid, although I didn't think you went to Williams and Mary."

"I didn't," Sam replied as he sat opposite his friend. "Katie bought it for me when she was in Virginia a couple of years ago. Wryly he added, "She said to add it to the collection."

"Well, you do have a lot of college sweatshirts," Al pointed out.

"Are you trying to torture me?" Sam asked pointing to the toast and coffee.

"What? I'm not having surgery, Kid." Al looked at Sam's face. "Ok, Ok. Sorry. I'll get something after you go in at the hospital cafeteria."

"No. You don't have to eat in the cafeteria. I wouldn't do that to you." Sam sat opposite Al and eyed the toast hungrily. "Besides, this way I can live vicariously."

"And you expect me to eat when you're looking at me with that face?" Al shook his head and went over, pulling some plastic wrap out of a drawer. "I'll just wrap it for later."

"Just eat it, would ya. Don't make me feel guilty 'cause you miss your breakfast."

"I won't 'miss' my breakfast, I'll just postpone it until later." Finishing wrapping up the toast, Al finished the coffee. "Anyways, we need to get a move on."

"Yeah, I guess so." Sam went out to the foyer and got their coats from the coat closet. "Why are there sheets on the couch," he asked as he handed Al his coat.

"Cause I don't want to have to make up the couch when I get back. I got this done while you were in the shower."

Sam was going to ask why Al needed the couch made up but decided it probably didn't matter. "Sure it's not too late for me to change my mind."

"Do you really want to change your mind, Kid?" Al asked, cautiously. "I don't mean emotionally, I mean logically. We've been down this path a few times the last few weeks. You know it's for the best."

"I was just kidding," Sam pointed out shaking his head slightly. "I'm not going to change my mind...well, maybe later today I'll be wishing I had...but I'm not going to." He gestured toward the door leading out the garage. "C'mon and let's just get this over with."

"Ok Kid, let's go."

The drive to the hospital was made in near silence. Sam didn't feel much like talking and Al didn't want to upset the apple cart so to speak. When they arrived at the hospital, they went to the check-in for day surgery. After filling out some paperwork, Sam was taken back to a room and given a hospital gown to change into and an IV was started. It wasn't long after that before he was taken to the OR.

Al had been told it would be a few hours and he decided that no matter what the kid said, he was going to the cafeteria. He didn't get it with Sam. The food wasn't that bad. Telling the nurse where he'd be in case of a problem, he made his way to the elevator and down to the cafeteria, knowing he'd be back by the time Sam was out. He got some bacon and eggs and afterwards came back up. Picking up the most recent issue of Newsweek, he read the magazine until he was called.

Going back to the recovery area, he frowned. There was some blood on Sam's gown and the blankets and his mouth was open. Otherwise, he was still asleep. "Ah, Sammy," he said softly.

"Admiral Calavicci," Dr. Sanders called coming into the recovery area.

"Hello, Dr. Sanders." He nodded over to Sam. "How is he?"

"He came through the surgery just fine. I'm happy with how well he's doing." Dr. Sanders picked up Sam's wrist checking his pulse. "He should start waking up at any time. You might want to try calling him and talking to him."

"Ok," he told her. He sat down next to the bed. "Sammy, you ready to wake up? Once they know you're ok, I'll get to take you home. You'd like that wouldn't you? Sammy?"

Sam's only response to Al's calls was to turn his head slightly in his direction. "He just needs a little time," Dr. Sanders told Al with a pat on his shoulder. "I'll be back in a little while to check on him."

"All right. Thanks Dr. Sanders." He turned his focus back to Sam. Knowing from the past that the younger man found his voice soothing, he continued to talk to the kid about little things. It was mostly chatter but Al knew it was what Sam needed for now to pull back.

Sam slowly became aware of a familiar voice talking to him. As much as he'd have preferred to stay in the comfort of sleep, the voice was far too insistent that he wake up. Unable to disobey that voice, he slowly opened his eyes to see his best friend sitting by his bedside. "Al," he croaked out. He winced when he heard his voice.

"Hey, Kid," said Al, kindly. "Don't talk. Remember. Writing only." He smiled. "Good to see you're awake though."

Sam looked at him for several long moments processing what he'd been told. "Thirsty," he mouthed. "Water?"

As Sam woke up, his nurse came over. "Looks like you've decided to rejoin the living, Sam." She fluffed up his pillows. "You think you can swallow a few ice chips?

Nodding slowly, Sam again repeated that he was thirsty.

She went over to a machine and obtained a plastic cup of ice chips and a spoon. Looking at Al, she said, "You might want to help him with these. Wouldn't do for him to drop them."

Sam watched as the nurse got the ice and gave it to Al. "Go home?" he asked after she'd walked away.

"Soon, Kid. You know the drill," Al coached as he fed Sam the ice chips. "They have to know you're ready to go. So lets get them there sooner than later, ok?"

Nodding his agreement, Sam opened his mouth for the spoonful of ice chips. They did little to quench his thirst and when Al tried to give him another spoonful, he raised his hand to push it away. "No...water."

"Not yet, Sam. If I remember right, ice chips first to make sure you're keeping the water down. Then water. Let's give it a few more spoonfuls."

"No! Water," Sam demanded pushing the ice chips away again.

The nurse, hearing the rough voice moved quickly to Sam's side. "Sam, is there something wrong? Don't the ice chips feel good on your throat?"

"Water," Sam told the nurse. "Want water.

Nurse Tofoya nodded. "Ok. Let me get you some water." She looked over at Al before walking off.

"Ok, Sam. Take it easy. You're going to get your water."

Sam nodded slightly. "Wanna go home," he said again. Insisting on the water seemed to have worked so maybe insisting on home would have the same result.

"That's going to have to wait, Buddy," Al said putting his hand on Sam's chest, somewhat worried that the kid's next move would be to get up. As he said the words, Nurse Tofoya was back with ice water in a large mug with a straw.

"Here you go, Sam. Nice cold water." She held the straw to his lips.

Sam greedily sucked on the straw when it was offered to him. When he swallowed, he became aware of the raw pain in his throat and pulled back from the water held out to him. He made a small noise of pain and grimaced. "Hurts."

"I bet," the nurse said, sympathetically. "Try not to talk."

Still disoriented from the anesthesia, Sam somehow connected the pain he was now experiencing with the nurse's presence and tried to push her away. "Al?''

"I'm here, Sam." Al moved into his view. Seeing his eyes still disoriented, he soothed, "It's going to be ok, Kid. You just need to wake up a little more."

"Hurts," Sam tried to explain. He knew he could trust the man in front of him to keep him safe and make the pain go away although he didn't know how.

Al blinked a few times. He tried to reason with his friend knowing that with the remains of the anesthesia that would be difficult. "I know it does, Sammy. It's going to hurt for a while, but it will get better again. You just need to give it time."

Sam blew out a troubled breath. He didn't want to wait. He wanted the pain gone now.

Dr. Sanders came back in the room then and came up to the bed Sam way lying on. "Well, look who's awake," she said brightly. "How are you doing?"

Al shook his head. "He's not doing too good, Doctor. He says he hurts and apparently the anesthesia still has a pretty good hold on him yet."

"Let's see what we can do to make him more comfortable." Dr. Sanders looked to the nurse. "Have you gotten a set of vitals on him recently?"

"We've been working on getting him comfortable. I'll have them for you in a minute." The nurse said, pulling out the blood pressure cuff.

Acknowledging the nurse, Dr. Sanders moved closer to the head of the bed. "Sam," she called getting his attention. "I need to check and see how you're doing then we can get you something to make you feel better. Can you open your mouth for me?" When her patient complied with her request, she pulled out a small flashlight and tongue depressor and checked to make sure there was no bleeding. "Ok, Sam, that looks good." She looked over to the nurse who was finishing up with the blood pressure check. How is it?"

"120 over 80," the nurse reported as she put the cuff back into the basket behind the bed.

"Perfect," Dr. Sanders said with a smile. She picked up his wrist and checked his pulse again. "I'm going to have the nurse give you something for pain, Sam but I want you to try the ice chips or the water again. You can't go home until I know you can drink. Can you do that for me?"

Sam nodded slightly. If he could get something to relieve the pain he was feeling, he'd do anything.

"Good." Dr. Sanders told the nurse what to give Sam for pain then gestured for Al to join her near the door.

"I'll be right back, Buddy. Don't go anywhere," Al quipped, lightly. He moved over to the door where Dr. Sanders was waiting.

"I know he might look pretty rough right now," Dr. Sanders explained to Al trying to ease the man's worry, "but he is doing quite well. The pain meds should start working right away. I'll be back in an hour to assess how he's doing again and if he's taking in fluids and he's a little more aware, I don't see any reason why you can't take him home."

"An hour?" Al asked. "That long, huh?"

"I want to make sure he's ready to go home. I know it might seem long but an hour will go by fast." She looked back at her patient. "Trust me, he's not ready to go just yet."

Al nodded. "Yeah. I know not yet. I just thought he might be ready sooner."

Dr. Sanders looked between the man in the bed and man standing in front her of her. "Forty-five minutes," she conceded. "I'll check on him in forty-five minutes and as long as he's drunk the water that's there and he's fairly well oriented, I'll let him go."

"Thanks, Dr. Sanders." He turned to go back to Sam. Reaching his side, he sat down again. "How you doing, kid?"

While Al had been speaking with Dr. Sanders, the nurse had administered the painkiller. Sam could already feel it starting to take effect. "Still thirsty."

Al nodded. "That's good. Let me give you some more water." He held the straw to his lips.

Over the next 45 minutes, Al bullied and cajoled Sam into drinking as much water as he could get into him. The anesthesia was slowly wearing off and Sam was becoming more aware of his surroundings although he was still pretty woozy from it.

"Go home now?" he asked for what must have been the hundredth time.

Al shrugged. "Show Dr. Sanders you're ready and yeah."

Dr. Sanders came in the room just as Al finished speaking. She examined Sam again and declared him ready to go home.

"You're sprung, Kid. Let's get you in your clothes and we can get back to the house."

Hearing that he could leave, Sam immediately tried to get up and do just that.

"Hang on a second," the nurse who'd come into the room told him. "We need to get you disconnected from that IV."

"Yeah...and unless you want the nurses to see your backside, we need to get you dressed too."

"Wanna go home," Sam said again to make sure he got his point across. He lay still until the nurse had pulled the IV and taped gauze over the site before again trying to sit up.

Al sighed. "I know you do, Sammy. Dr. Sanders said you're good to go but unless you plan on going out in the hospital gown, we have to get your sweats on you, ok?"

"Ok." Despite his agreement, Sam still moved so he was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the bed. He did wait for Al to get his clothes, though.

"I'll be right back with his discharge paperwork and a wheelchair," the nurse told Al before leaving.

Once Sam was dressed, the nurse brought the wheelchair. "Your ride out of here, Sam." She had a few papers that needed to be signed. Once that was finished, Al went out to get the jeep while Nurse Tofoya wheeled the younger man out.

The Jeep was pulled up under the covered drive and Al got out moving quickly to open the door for Sam.

"Go home," Sam half-stated, half-asked when Al started to help him from the wheelchair.

"Yeah, Kid, that's where we're going. You just gotta get in the Jeep and we'll be on out way."

"Ok. Tired."

He maneuvered the taller man over to the jeep, having opened the door. "You're going to have to step up a bit."

Sam did his best to follow Al's directions but it felt like he was being asked to climb a mountain. "Trying."

"I know. You can do it." After a few tries, Sam was seated in the passenger seat. Once Sam was in the jeep, Al pulled his seatbelt into place. "There, you're all set. Now let's get you home."

"Ok," Sam looked out at the window where the nurse was just getting ready to go back in with the wheelchair and waved to her then watched as Al got in the Jeep next to him.

Al pulled away from the hospital and into traffic. "How you feeling?" He was certain that after receiving the pain medication, Sam was doing reasonably well, but he wanted to hear it from his friend.

"Mmmhmmm," Sam murmured as he leaned his head against the window and watched the scenery go by.

"That good, huh," said Al with a smile.

"Ok." Tired of watching the scenery, Sam closed his eyes trusting in his friend to get him safely home.

"Ok, Kid. You rest. Next stop, home."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Al pulled the keys from the ignition and looked over to the man sitting next to him. Although not quite asleep, Sam was almost there. "Sit tight and I'll help you out," he told him before getting out of the car. As out of it as Sam still was from the anesthesia, Al didn't want him to try anything by himself right now.

When he got around to the passenger side and pulled open the door, Sam was trying to take the seat belt off. He couldn't seem to get his hands to coordinate enough to do that simple task and Al had to restrain himself from laughing at his friend's plight. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that once the anesthesia had worn off completely, Sam would be in a world of hurt. "Let me," he said as he leaned in and pushed Sam's hands out of the way. He made quick work of the seatbelt then guided his friend out of the Jeep. He made sure to put a hand over Sam's head to prevent him from banging it as he got out.

Once Sam was out of the Jeep, Al kept a guiding hand on him and led him into the house. Sam stumbled along going where he was lead. "Couch or bed?" Al asked as they neared the living room door.

After a moment's hesitation, Sam mouthed, "couch."

Al guided him over to the couch he'd made up before they left. He hadn't thought Sam would want to spend all of his time in bed and it seemed he was right.

After sitting Sam down on the couch, Al bent down to take off his sneakers. "Bet you're glad now that I talked you into wearing sweats to go to the hospital instead of jeans like you wanted to. Now you don't have to change."

Sam watched closely as Al took off one sneaker and then the other. His only answer to the question he'd been asked was a slow nod.

Once he was done with Sam's sneakers, Al stood up and guided Sam to lie back against the pillows. He'd added an extra so there were three instead of two. He'd done his own reading up about how best to help Sam beyond the material Dr. Sanders had given them. One thing he'd seen mentioned frequently was that keeping the head elevated with pillows would help keep the swelling from getting too bad.

One of the other things mentioned was ice packs on the neck. He intended to get one as soon as Sam was settled.

He pulled the quilt Sam's grandmother had made over the younger man once he was lying down. "How 'bout I get you some cold water to drink?" All the information Al had found as well as the information Dr. Sanders had given them and what she had told them stressed how important it would be to keep Sam hydrated over the next couple of days. He planned to do exactly that.

When Sam answered with another slow nod, Al went out to the kitchen to get the water and ice pack. He'd put a pitcher of water in the fridge to make sure it was nice and cold.

When he returned to the living room, he supported Sam while he drank most of the glass of water. Once he was settled against the pillows again, Al put the tea towel he'd brought in with him over Sam's neck then put the gel ice pack over that. "Why don't you get a little sleep right now," he suggested as he smoothed the quilt over Sam. He didn't have to tell the younger man twice since his eyes immediately closed and his breathing evened out.

As he straightened up from leaning over the couch, Al made note of what time it was. Sam had been given pain medication before they left the hospital and wouldn't be due for it for three hours. If he were still sleeping, he'd wake him to take it.

That had been another bit of advice he'd found – don't sleep through pain medication time. Sam wasn't feeling a lot of pain right now but that was because the anesthesia hadn't worn off completely. Once it did, he'd be feeling a lot more. Al was going to do anything he could to prevent the pain from getting too bad.

Before walking away from the couch, he brushed his hand over Sam's forehead. It was warm but it wasn't hot. Dr. Sanders had warned them that Sam would probably run a low-grade fever for the next couple of days but it shouldn't be cause for concern. The only reason they'd have to worry was if it went above 102 or if Sam had the chills as well.

Al realized that he'd need a thermometer to keep track and make sure Sam's temperature wasn't above 102. That meant he'd have to go in search of one. Since he'd known Sam, he'd had to buy him two. I wouldn't surprise him if that number went up to three.

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Three hours and fifteen minutes later Sam was still sleeping and Al was faced with the decision of letting him sleep or waking him to take the pain meds. He decided to err on the side of caution and make sure the medication got into Sam instead of waiting.

Before waking his sleeping friend, he poured out the dosage of the liquid Percoset that had been prescribed. Dr. Sanders had given Sam all the prescriptions he'd need when they'd meet last week for the pre-op appointment. Al had made sure they were filled a couple of days ago. He'd thought Sam would have to choke down pills no matter how his throat was feeling and had been pleased when he'd seen that all the medication he'd been prescribed was in liquid form. In addition to the Percoset, there was also a prescription for an antibiotic as well as Phenergran in case Sam suffered any post-anesthesia nausea. So far, he hadn't had to use the Phenegran but based on past experience, Al knew it was just a matter of time before he'd need it.

Sam was still in a deep sleep when he went into the living room with the medicine and he felt bad having to wake him up. If he didn't, though, it was likely his friend would suffer when he woke up naturally or pain would wake him instead.

Putting the small medicine cup down on the coffee table, Al sat on the edge of the couch near Sam's hip and shook his shoulder gently. "Sammy, I need you to wake up for just a little while," he said softly. "C'mon, Kid. You need to take some medicine then you can go back to sleep." Another soft shake of Sam's shoulder and the younger man squeezed his eyes tightly shut then opened them.

"S'matta," Sam croaked out in a barely heard whisper. He squinted in Al's direction trying to bring his vision into focus. Tentatively, he swallowed once then winced.

"I've got your pain meds, Kid." He'd caught the way Sam had winced when he woke up. "Looks like it's starting to hurt."

"Yeah," Sam breathed out then levered himself up. He took the cup from Al and downed the medicine in it, wincing again as it went down. "Yuck," he said handing it back.

Al took the cup and chuckled at Sam's expression of distaste. "You won't be saying that once it kills the pain." He rested the back of his hand against Sam's cheek checking to see how warm he was then reached for the thermometer that he'd put on the coffee table. He'd been surprised when he found it in Sam's medicine cabinet. "Let's see what your temp is then I want you to drink something. After that, you can go back to sleep if you want."

He slipped the thermometer between Sam's lips. While he waited for it to register, he straightened out the quilt over his friend. When the thermometer beeped, he pulled it out and checked the reading on it. "99.9. That's not too bad." He put the thermometer back on the coffee table. "So, you want some more water or something with a little flavor?"

Sam wrinkled his nose in response to the query and shook his head slightly.

"None of that," Al chided. "You know you need to keep drinking or your throat's going to hurt a lot more. So what's it gonna be."

"Water, I guess," Sam whispered. He'd like to pass on putting anything in his stomach right now. Since Al had woken him, it felt like it had boarded a roller coaster full of steep hills and dips. He wasn't sure anything he drank would stay down but Al didn't seem inclined to let him get away with not drinking. Water seemed the safest choice.

"Coming right up." Al went out to the kitchen and returned a few moments later. "Nice and cold from the fridge," he said when he returned with the glass of water. He helped Sam to sit up then gave him the water. "Try to drink as much as you can."

Sam started to sip slowly from the glass. Although the cold did feel good on his throat, his stomach was becoming more and more uneasy. After drinking less than half, he tried to hand the glass back to Al but he pushed it back telling him to drink more. "Gonna be sick," he croaked out refusing any more of the water.

Al took the glass back reluctantly. Although he knew it was important to get as much liquid into Sam as possible, he knew it would defeat the purpose if it made him get sick and lose liquids instead. "Ok, Kid," he said putting the glass down on the coffee table. "I'm not even gonna ask if you're up to trying some Jello or a popsicle. Why don't you lie back down and try to get a little more rest and let those meds work."

Sam didn't have to be told twice. He lay back down and rolled over onto his side facing the back of the couch. He wasn't like that for long before abruptly sitting up then stumbling as quickly as he could to the master bath. Al followed along behind him. He was just in time to see the water Sam had drunk make a very fast and unfortunate reappearance. He crouched down by his friend and rubbed his back until the vomiting stopped and Sam sagged back against him. He didn't want to think about how much pain the vomiting had probably caused.

He let the younger man lean against him for a few minutes in silence until his breathing started to even out. "Still feeling nauseated?" he asked quietly. A slight nod was his only answer.

Sighing, Al slipped from behind Sam and let him lean against the wall. He filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to his friend. "It's just to rinse your mouth," he explained seeing Sam's reluctance to take it.

Once Sam had rinsed out his mouth, Al lowered the lid on the toilet and flushed then helped Sam back up. "How 'bout you take some of the Phenergran the doc gave you in case this happened." Another small nod was the ill man's only answer.

Al sat Sam down on the closed lid of the toilet then grabbed the bottle of medicine off the counter. He read the dosage instructions on it then shook it and poured some out into the small medicine cup. "Bottoms up," he said handing it to Sam. He watched as he swallowed it down with a grimace and had to hold back another sigh. Sam wouldn't be able to take the Percoset again for a number of hours and the sewer system was the only one who'd be getting any real benefit from the dose he just took. The warning on the side of the bottle of the Phenergran said it could cause drowsiness. For Sam's sake, he hoped it would.

"Back to the couch?" Al asked as helped Sam to his feet.

"Bed," Sam whispered as he let his friend guide him out of the bathroom.

"I need to get your pillows and the ice pack," Al said once they were in the bedroom. He sat Sam on the edge of the bed. "I'll be right back," he promised.

Al ran out to the living room to get the items he'd mentioned. When he picked up the ice pack, he noticed it wasn't very cold anymore. He went to the kitchen to get the other one from the freezer.

When he got back to the bedroom, Sam was sitting where he'd left him. The kid looked miserable and he wished he could do something to make him feel a little bit better.

He put the ice pack and tea towel on the bedside table and arranged the pillows at the head of the bed. "That stuff helping yet?" he asked as he took hold of Sam's shoulders and guided him to lie back against the pillows.

"Not yet," Sam replied in a barely heard whisper.

"Give it some time." Al pulled the covers up over Sam then arranged the ice pack across this throat.

"Don't want it," Sam said pushing the ice pack away.

"You sure?" Al asked taking it and putting it on the bedside table again. "It's supposed to help keep any swelling down."

"Yeah…sure."

"Ok, Kid. I won't argue with you." Sam's eyes were already heavy and Al didn't think it would be long before sleep would claim him again. That is, unless the nausea got to him first.

In all the time Al had known Sam, he knew he could be unpredictable when he wasn't feeling well. Sometimes he wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds in private. Other times he seemed to crave company. Whichever the case, Al had gotten pretty good at picking up Sam's clues and only offered to keep him company if it seemed like that's what he wanted. This time, he couldn't really get a feel. "You want some company," he asked erring on the side of making the offer and being rebuffed as opposed to just walking out and leaving his friend to his own devices.

Sam responded with a small shrug of one shoulder. Though not the most eloquent way to communicate, Al correctly interpreted it as his way of saying company would be welcomed.

"You want me to read for a while?" was the next question Al asked. He'd found out a couple of months ago in the cabin that Sam equated hearing the sound of his voice reading with security and it could lull the younger man to sleep. He hoped this would one of those times.

A small headshake was Sam's answer.

"No, huh? So you just want me to sit here?"

Again, Sam answered with a small shrug.

"Ah, Sammy," Al sighed patting his shoulder. He looked at his friend for a moment. "I can see what you're thinking in your eyes," he commented.

Sam raised his eyebrows in question.

"You're wondering why you did this and what it's worth. I gotta tell you, Kid, right now I can't say I blame you. You're sick as a dog and in a hell of a lot of pain right now."

He waited until Sam agreed before continuing. "It sucks right now, Kid, but think of how much worse it could have been. It was just a matter of time before one of those strep infections became something worse like meningitis or pneumonia." Seeing Sam's look of surprise he continued, "Yeah. I did some reading on my own. Don't look so surprised. I don't think you want to add meningitis to your repertoire and I'd think you had enough with pneumonia last year."

Sam nodded in agreement with Al's assessment and the older man continued talking. "Dr. Gleason told me it was just pure luck the second time that you didn't get so bad that you needed to be on a respirator." He lapsed into silence for a moment remembering that time. "I can't think of anything good to remember from that whole trip…except," he continued with a smirk, "Maybe Lydia was pretty nice. You ever think about looking her up since then? I think she really liked you," he teased.

Sam's eyes narrowed at the teasing and he pressed his lips together in what Al had dubbed his choirboy look. "Don't you be giving me that look," Al chided him. "Even without using your voice you still know how to get your point across."

"Hate this," Sam whispered. He shifted restlessly as his stomach started to threaten him again.

"I know you do," Al replied. He brushed the hair back from Sam's face. "It's just been one thing after another for the past year. Look at it this way," he said trying to find a positive spin, "at least the shrink doesn't seem too bad. Everyone seems to like her."

Sam wrinkled his nose communicating what he thought of their new, resident psychiatrist. So far he'd managed to avoid Dr. Beeks but he knew that couldn't last forever. Eventually, she was going to demand time with him. "You talk to her?" he asked trying to gauge just how much contact Al had with the woman.

"Not if I can help it. You know how I feel about shrinks." Seeing the look on Sam's face, Al hastened to add, "Yeah, I know, they don't give you a warm fuzzy either." He squeezed Sam's shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, I won't let her do anything that's gonna hurt you. You're not gonna lose the project and you're not gonna get taken away somewhere." When he saw Sam's eyes widen at his words he added, "Don't look so surprised. I know how you think."

Again, Al brushed the hair away from Sam's face. This time, though, he repeated the motion. In the past, he'd seen how Thelma would do the same thing and it would lull Sam to sleep. He hoped he could work some of the same magic the kid's mother could.

"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Just rest and don't think about anything. I'm here and I'll take care of everything."

Trusting Al to keep his words, Sam let his eyes drift shut. He tried to put the discomfort his body was feeling and his worries far from his thoughts and just concentrate on Al's hand brushing through his hair. "Thank you," he breathed out before succumbing to sleep.

Al sat on the bed for another few minutes until he was sure Sam was asleep and would stay that way for a while. When he was, he slowly got up, careful not to jostle the mattress. He smoothed the covers over Sam then slipped silently from the room.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The day went back in fits and spurts. Most of the time, Sam slept, the pain medication, residual anesthesia effect, and his body's need to heal conspiring to keep him asleep. Every so often, the kid would awaken and Al had to push fluids on him. It was as he'd thought. Sam wasn't very cooperative and he had to cajole and occasionally threaten but Sam eventually complied, at least as far as liquids were concerned.

Sam was not so cooperative where food was concerned. Al couldn't get him to eat at all. After one bite of the applesauce, he'd refused any food no matter how soft. Al finally gave up on that one, remembering Dr. Sanders had said he'd probably only be able to take liquids for a day or two. He figured Sam wouldn't stave to death for one day. He was just thankful the medications were liquid this time. He shuddered to think what getting pills into the kid would be like.

It was at the interfaces between deep sleep and wakefulness that bothered Al the most. Having taken his temperature, Al knew that wasn't the kid's problem. The dreams were bothering Sam anyways. When he did awake, often because nature has a way of waking a body when certain things need to happen, it was usually with a start. Al had to calm Sam a few times during those moments. He figured that the drugs were acting on his mind in ways that didn't sooth him much.

As a result, Al chose to stay on the couch. He kept Sam's door cracked open and made sure the bell was beside him as well. In addition, he put Bear in the bed beside him and more than once had come in to check, only to find Sam's hand on his stuffed friend of many years.

Al found he didn't get much sleep that night, not that he'd expected to. Still, he was thankful it was later in the morning than usual when he heard Sam's morning call.

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The night passed in a blur of pain and discomfort for Sam. Even though he didn't remember much of the night, he knew he hadn't slept a lot - or at least hadn't had very much restful sleep. He did know that Al had made frequent trips into his room checking on him and, when he was fully awake, forcing more liquids on him.

He was surprised when he'd found Bear in bed with him. Since he knew he wasn't the one who'd put him there, that left only Al. Knowing that his friend had done it for his comfort, he couldn't be upset with him.

According his bedside clock it was much later than he normally woke up but he didn't feel like getting out of bed. He was thirsty, though, and the glass by his bed was empty. He called out to Al but his voice was so weak he knew it didn't carry very far. He grabbed the cowbell from the bedside table and rang it.

Al heard the cowbell and immediately jumped to his feet. Going into the kid's room, he found him sitting up. "Hey, Kid. How you feeling?" he asked, watching to ascertain Sam's frame of mind. He nodded to the pad of paper and the pen. "Try to write it."

Sam looked to the pad of paper and shook his head. "Want water."

Al looked at the empty glass. "Yeah. You drained the last one. Be right back." He went back out the door. He'd put several pitchers of water in the refrigerator. He knew the cold water would feel better on the kid's throat. A few minutes later, he came back into the room. He'd brought a clean glass, planning to take the other away. "Here you go, Kid. Nice cool water."

Sam took the glass from Al. He wanted just to guzzle it down to quench his thirst but knew that would not feel good. He took a few sips, wincing each time. "Hurts," he complained handing the glass back.

"Yeah. I know. It's about time for some more pain meds. Doctor Sanders said we should overlap the doses and then you won't be without what comfort they provide."

Sam waited patiently while Al went to the bathroom to pour out his next dose of the painkiller. Despite the taste of it and the small, additional pain swallowing it caused, he gratefully drank it down knowing it would offer him some relief from the fire in his throat. When he handed the small medicine cup back, he pushed the covers off his body and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Wanna shower." He was still wearing the same sweats he'd put on before going to the hospital the previous morning and was eager to clean up and change them.

Al had been reading up on convalescence after the tonsillectomy. He knew that, unlike when Sam had the flu or pneumonia, he was mostly ok except for his throat. "Yeah. I imagine they're feeling a bit groady about now." He nodded to the cowbell. "You might want to take that with you though, just in case you need something."

Nodding, Sam took the bell from the bedside table and made his way to the bathroom. He didn't bother to pull out clothes to change into thinking Al would do that for him while he was in the bathroom. He started the water running and stripped out of the clothes he had on, leaving them in a pile in the corner, and got into the shower. It felt good to stand under the warm water.

He just finished rinsing the soap from his body when he unexpectedly felt dizzy and weak. Most likely, it was a combination of the painkiller he'd taken and a lack of any substantial food over the last 24 hours. Whatever the cause, he didn't trust himself to climb over the edge of the bathtub without falling. Unfortunately, he'd left the cowbell on the bathroom counter and couldn't reach it from where he was. Turning off the water, he hit the wall as hard as he could hoping Al would hear the sound.

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Al watched Sam head into the bathroom then took the time to freshen up Sam's covers by straightening them. He also pulled out some more sweats and underclothes for the kid. They certainly wouldn't be going anywhere and Al wanted him to be comfortable. He heard the shower still going and decided to take the dirty glass into the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later, he heard the sound of banging in the bathroom. Opening the door a crack he asked, "You need me Sam? Hit once for no, twice for yes."

Two hits to the wall was Sam's quick response.

Al rushed in. He pulled the shower curtain back enough to see Sam leaning against the corner of the enclosure. His friend was definitely pale and he realized he was probably feeling faint. Grabbing the towel, he handed it to Sam. "Here, let me help you." He put his hand out to steady the kid.

Taking the towel held out to him, Sam wrapped it around his waist thankful for Al's steadying hand. "Little dizzy," he explained as he was helped over the edge of the bathtub.

"Yeah. I didn't think that would happen, or I wouldn't have left your room," Al said, chastising himself for not being there the moment Sam needed him.

"Need to sit for a second." The dizziness was slowly receding but the feeling of weakness had yet to pass completely. Sam wasn't sure he'd still be on his feet if it weren't for Al's support.

"Let's get you back to bed, Kid." He approached the idea of food cautiously. "I still have some applesauce in the kitchen. Think you might be up for some?

The idea of eating anything wasn't something Sam particularly looked forward to but he knew if he didn't get something in his stomach soon, and kept taking the Percocet, the way he was feeling now would only get worse. "I'll try some," he croaked. "No bed."

"Ok, Kid. How about the living room?"

"Yeah. Gotta get dressed first."

Al laughed. "I figured that. I've got some clothes laid out for you."

Sam didn't bother answering this time. He settled for nodding and letting Al help him from the bathroom to bedroom. He let out a sigh of relief when he sat on the edge of the bed. He was still wet and wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish the feat of drying off without toppling over. Much as he'd rather take care of himself, he knew he'd have to rely on Al right now but made up his mind that no matter how much it hurt, he was going to start eating just so that he wouldn't have to rely on him anymore than necessary.

Al noticed Sam's quick drop to the bed. He knew the kid was modest but figured, right now, he just needed some help. He remembered how weak he was coming back from Vietnam and how the nurses sometimes had to care for him almost like a baby. "Sam...let me have the towel. I'll get you dried off."

Reluctantly, Sam let Al take the towel from him and tried to block out having to let his friend take care of him. After his hospitalization after being hit by the car, he knew his sense of modesty shouldn't be this strong after all that Al had had to help him with then but he was still discomforted.

Al quickly took care of what needed to be done, trying to give Sam as much dignity as he could. After drying him off, he helped him first into his underwear and then his sweats.

"Thanks," Sam said once he was dressed again. He did his best to finger comb his damp hair in place but gave up. Right now, it didn't matter what he looked like. He let Al help him up from the bed and take him out to the living room. By the time they got to the couch, his whole body felt as if it were shaking from fatigue. "Don't tell you about this," he complained as Al helped him sit on the couch.

Al looked at Sam with sympathy. "Yeah. But look on the bright side. Once this is past, you won't be getting strep as much. That's gotta count for something."

"Don't care right now. Think I'd rather strep."

Al's mouth turned down. "Don't say that, Kid. This will pass before you know it."

Sam made a dismissive noise telling Al just what he thought about that theory. The couch was still made up as a bed. He assumed the pillows were Al's but leaned over to lie on them anyway. "So wiped out."

"Well...for a few days, yeah. It's only been 24 hours since the surgery and you've been taking some pretty heavy-duty painkiller. You'll start getting stronger and you know I'll be here to help."

"I know. Applesauce?" Sam was using his voice on the bare minimum.

"Yeah. Let me get it for you, Kid. You want me to find the remote for you first?"

"Ok." The likelihood of him being able to concentrate for very long to watch anything wasn't very high but at least it was something to do. Hopefully he'd also be able to eat the applesauce. At least the painkiller was taking effect and the fire in his throat was down to one alarm instead of five. It had also dulled the pain he was feeling in his ears.

Al had put the remote in a more reasonable spot since he'd slept in the living room the night before. He quickly found it and gave it to Sam, heading into the kitchen to get the soft food for his friend.

While Al was gone from the room, Sam slowly cycled through the TV stations. When he reached The Price Is Right, he left it there. He vaguely remembered it being on the TV when he and Al were both in the hospital Christmas day. As far as morning TV fare went, it would do.

When Al returned, he shook his head at the mesmerized look on Sam's face. It was as if he was watching, but not watching. "Hey, Sam. Food."

Sam sat up and accepted the bowl of applesauce Al held out to him. After stirring it a few times with the spoon, he tried a small bite. His throat felt more painful when he swallowed but it wasn't so bad right now that it would stop him from eating. His stomach seemed to welcome the small bite reminding him that it had been a while since it had seen any food. He was just happy there was no more nausea. With the success of the first bite, he put another in his mouth.

Al watched Sam for a few minutes, a grin playing at his mouth. "Hey. I'm going get something to eat too. Be right back." He went back into the kitchen, grabbing a bagel out of the refrigerator, toasting it, and slathering it with cream cheese before returning to Sam. He also brought his coffee with him.

When he got back to the living room, Sam was leaning over to put the bowl of applesauce on the coffee table. "Thirsty," he told his friend before getting up off the couch.

"Ok, Kid." Al put down his meal and went back to the kitchen, pulling out another pitcher of cold water. He got a glass and went back to Sam. "Here you go," he said pouring the water into the glass and handing it to him.

Sam was sitting on the couch with his arms crossed when Al came back with the water. "I could have gotten it," he grumped refusing to take the glass. "'M not disabled."

"Yeah, I know. Force of habit."

"Break it," Sam advised accepting the glass of water this time. The Percocet was working right now and he wasn't in as much pain plus the applesauce had done a great deal to alleviate the shakiness he was feeling. It was making him feel a little more confident about how he felt in general and he didn't want Al's protective instinct to kick unnecessarily.

Al didn't say anything. He just smiled weakly and went over to eat his own breakfast. Normally when he'd taken care of things, Sam was genuinely ill. This time it was different. He'd have to adjust. The rest of the week he did just that.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

By Sunday morning Sam was doing much better and Al felt comfortable leaving him alone for short while. As he'd expected, getting a loan for the Corvette had been easy as apple pie and now he was going to pick it up Tina arrived right on time drive him out to the Jimenez Pueblo.

"Ok. I'll only be gone about six hours tops," Al promised as the doorbell rang. "Well maybe eight," he amended when he looked out the door at the smiling face of Tina Martinez-O'Farrell.

"Hi Al," she said snapping her gum. "Ya ready to go?" She came in as far as the foyer and leaned into the living room. "You doing ok, Dr. Beckett?"

"I'm doing great, Tina, thanks." Sam was settled on the couch with a popsicle and the Sunday paper. He'd been eating a lot of the frozen treats this week. "Can you pick up a some more of these," he asked Al holding up the remains of the orange popsicle.

"Sure, Kid. You want just orange or a different flavor?"

"Just the kind with different flavors." Sam quickly put the last of the popsicle in his mouth when he noticed it starting to drip down the stick.

"Ok. You got it." Al sighed. "I feel sort of bad leaving you like this Buddy."

"Just go, Al. I told you, I'll be fine. What do you think's going to happen?"

Al shrugged. "I don't know. Probably nothing I guess."

Tina nodded. "Yeah, Al. Come on. I want to see this new car of yours. It's good seeing you again, Dr. Beckett. Hope to see you back at the project soon."

"It's good to see you too, Tina. I'm hoping to be back next week." If Sam had his way, he'd be back sometime this week. He'd mentioned to Al once that he might like to try going back tomorrow but the man had been adamant that he wasn't stepping foot out of the house per the doctor's orders. He wouldn't even let him go with him to pick up the car.

"We'll see, Sam. You need to make sure you're a hundred percent before you go back," Al reminded as he got his coat.

"Sure, Al. Whatever you say." Sam was planning on going back when he thought he was ready, not when someone else told him he could. The committee and Beeks could find fault wherever they wanted but he'd be damned if they were going to say the project was falling behind schedule because of him.

"Ok," Al answered although he figured from the way Sam spoke he wasn't in total agreement with the statement. "Anyways, we'll be back sometime late this afternoon." With that, he and Tina left the house.

Sam thought about getting up to check that the door was locked but he'd gotten to the comic section of the paper. He couldn't remember the last time he'd read the Sunday comics. Checking the door could wait until after he was done with Garfield.

About thirty minutes had gone by when the phone rang. Sam, his throat still too sore to answer the phone allowed the answering machine to pick it up. He listened to the woman's voice leaving a message.

"Hello. This is Sarah Myers in Admiral Plantz office. I was told that this is an alternate number for Admiral Calavicci. We need him in Washington for a meeting Wednesday morning at the Pentagon. I'll be sending an email with the other pertinent information. Would you please let the Admiral know to check that and call me Monday morning? The phone number will be in the email. Thank you."

When the call was completed, Sam put aside the paper and got up. It was time to find that bottle of painkiller. It had to be at least four hours since he'd last taken any and, most likely, longer.

After taking the painkiller, he went out to kitchen to make a cup of tea. He hadn't had any since the surgery and he really wanted one. He'd just have to make sure it wasn't hot when he drank it. So far, it had been great having the house to himself once more and he planned on convincing Al that he had to go back to work tomorrow. That would give him even more time to himself. Now it looked like he'd have a couple of days completely to himself while Al was in Washington.

He'd just put on a movie when the phone rang second time. Again, the answering machine picked up. His mother's voice came on after the instructions to leave a message. "Hello, Honey. I hope you're doing all right. Al called me after the surgery to tell me you had gotten through it ok. I hope everything's..."

Hearing his mother's voice, Sam quickly picked up the phone. "Mom," he croaked out wishing his voice were closer to normal than it was.

"Sam? Is that you?" she asked, concerned.

"It's me, Mom."

"I just wanted to call and make sure everything was all right. Is it?" She paused. "Shouldn't Al be picking up the phone so you can let your voice rest?"

"Everything's fine, Mom. Al had to go out for a while and the doctor didn't tell me not to talk."

"Ok, Honey. You just sound like it's hurting you. Will Al be back soon?"

"He should be back in a couple of hours." He was going to deny being in pain but knew his mother wouldn't believe him. "It is hurting a little right now, Mom. I just took some of the painkiller Dr. Sanders gave me, though, and that's starting to work." He would have liked to have talked more with his mother to make sure any of her worries were allayed but he could feel the Percocet working and that meant he'd soon be conked out. "Mom, do you mind if Al calls you when he gets back? The painkiller makes me kinda sleepy."

"Of course, Sam. I just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you. You always did have a low tolerance for painkillers. Just have Al give me a call. Love you."

"I will, Mom. I love you too and I'll talk with you when I'm feeling a little better." Sam waited until he heard his mother disconnect before he hung up the phone. He got himself comfortable on couch and turned the movie back on. Wrapping up in the quilt, he settled down to watch it at least until he fell asleep. Ten minutes later, he was down for the count.

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Verbena Beeks had decided that perhaps it would be a good idea at least to run by Sam Beckett's house just to pay a quick friendly visit. She figured it couldn't hurt to show she was concerned about his well-being, and having seen him at the hospital, he knew she was aware of when the surgery occurred.

She parked the car at the curb and walked up to the house. His home looked to be a simple but comfortable adobe style house. It was kept up but rather Spartan as well. It certainly didn't exude a desire for luxury, just simple comfort. It fit with the picture she'd begun forming of the genius scientist.

She knocked on the door but there was no answer. On a lark, she tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Concerned that someone might not be home and the door had been left unlocked accidentally, she stuck her head into the foyer. "Anyone home?" she called out to check her hypothesis.

Not hearing an answer, she cautiously walked into the house shutting the door behind her. She didn't think it was very likely that Dr. Beckett would be out and about this soon after surgery. The foyer opened up into the living room and she stepped in there. Part of the answer for why no one answered her knock was revealed when she saw Sam stretched out on the couch sleeping. She took a guess that Admiral Calavicci must have gone out for some reason.

Quietly approaching the couch, she looked down at the sleeping man. He looked paler and more drawn than when she'd last seen him but, on the whole, he looked like he was doing well. He was certainly sleeping peacefully. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check that. She brushed her hand gently across his forehead checking for fever.

"Al?" Sam questioned without opening his eyes when he felt someone touching him.

Not expecting a response, Verbena pulled her hand back quickly. "Um. No. Not Al."

"Who?" Sam asked startled not hearing a voice he expected. He pulled back and his eyes opened wide.

"It's Dr. Beeks. I came over just to see how you're doing after the surgery." She realized that perhaps she shouldn't have just walked in, and, perhaps, an explanation would help. "Um. I knocked but no one answered. The door was unlocked. I was wondering if anyone was here."

Hearing the unlocked door mentioned, Sam remembered that he was supposed to check it. "Uh, Al must have left it unlocked when he left. I fell asleep after I took the painkiller." He realized how weak his explanation sounded and wondered just what the woman was thinking of him now. "How…uh…how long have you been here?" It crossed his mind that while he'd been sleeping she could have gone through the house looking for proof that he was incompetent.

"I just arrived," she said with a weak smile. "I saw you on the couch and felt I should check on you. I hope you don't mind." She maintained her composure while simultaneously wondering what had possessed her to be so bold. This man was, to all practical purposes her boss, even if she had been brought onto the project by the committee's recommendation. _Great way to make an impression_, she thought.

Pushing the quilt to the side, Sam sat up on the couch. "Do you always make it a habit of walking into people's houses unannounced?" he asked irritably.

"No. I did call out. No one answered. I didn't know if something might be amiss."

"I didn't hear anything." Now that he was fully awake, Sam's uneasiness in the woman's presence was turning to anger. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"No." Verbena was feeling that this wasn't going to go the way she hoped. "I really did just come by to see how you were feeling. Tonsillectomies in adults can be difficult at best."

"Well, I'm doing fine and I'm quite aware of how difficult a tonsillectomy can be." Sam rose from the couch and gestured the doctor toward the front door. "I don't mean to be rude, but right now I'm really not feeling well and I'd like to go to bed for a while."

Verbena nodded. "Um. Yes. Of course. Sorry to bother you, Dr. Beckett." She turned and walked quickly to the door, her face feeling flushed. "I do hope you're on the mend soon." She pulled the door closed as she walked out.

_Darn it!_ she thought as she left. _That was a great move. You got your boss upset_. She sighed. "Well nothing I can do about it now. Water's under the bridge," she said softly to herself. She went out to her car and drove off.

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Sam made sure that he locked the front door this time. Not only that, he slid the chain into place as well, then went to the door leading to the garage and did the same. It didn't escape him that instead of Verbena Beeks coming in the unlocked door, it could have been someone with a less savory reason.

Once all the doors in the house were locked, he went back to the living room and sank down on the couch. Beeks had to be spying on them. There could be no other reason why she showed up now when he was by himself. She may have said she'd just arrived but he couldn't help but wonder just how true that was.

Getting up quickly, he went to his office. It didn't look like anything on his desk was disturbed but as untidy as it was, he couldn't be completely sure.

He went back to the living room to wait for Al to get back. Maybe he'd have some insight into why the doctor had showed up unexpectedly - not that he really needed any.

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It was getting late when Al arrived back in Socorro. He wondered about asking Tina back to his place but figured he should give Sam a call first. He pulled over near a phone booth and go out to call Sam. The phone rang and the answering machine picked up. When Al had a chance to speak he started, "Hey Sam, it's me. Pick up."

"Whassa matta?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Did I wake you?" Al asked.

"Um, no. I was just watching TV. I took some of the painkiller," Sam added realizing that although he hadn't been sleeping, he probably sounded that way. "My ears are really bothering me today."

"Oh." Al considered if he should even ask but then seeing Tina smiling at him from her car he said, "Hey Kid, you mind if I stay out a little longer tonight? I was thinking I'd take Tina to dinner for helping me out today." He was actually thinking of ordering in and taking her back to his place.

Sam hesitated before he answered. After all Al had done for him the past few days, and despite the fact that he'd been enjoying his time alone, he preferred his friend come home. Still, it really wasn't fair to ask that of him. "Dr. Beeks was here," he said instead without directly answering the question.

"What? Did you ask her to come?" Al couldn't imagine Sam would do that, but he had to ask.

"No, I didn't. I was asleep on the couch and I woke up and she was just there."

Al's eyes narrowed. There was more to this story. Al figured he needed to get back. "I'll just give Tina a rain check. She'll understand. I'll be home in a flash, Sam."

"You don't have to do that," Sam protested. "Have dinner with Tina and enjoy yourself."

Al disagreed. "No. I'll be back soon, Kid. See you then." He hung up before Sam could argue anymore. He explained to Tina that he really felt the need to get back to Sam. As he expected, she understood. Telling him to wish Dr. Beckett her best, she headed off back to her home. Al then turned his new car in the direction of Sam's place and was soon there.

He didn't have the garage door opener so he decided to park in front. He had to admit the car was a dream to handle. He got out and went to the front door. He put his key in the lock and turned it but, when he tried to open the door, he found Sam had put the chain on the door. That was a sure sign, in Al's opinion, that the kid was nervous about things. He hit the doorbell, calling at the same time, "Hey Kid, come open the door."

Hearing Al call out to him as well as the doorbell, Sam hurried from the kitchen where he'd been looking for something to have for dinner. "You didn't have to come back," he said once the door was open.

"Well, I felt like it would be for the best," Al said, walking in. "Don't worry, Tina was good with it. She sends her best to you."

Sam was of two minds regarding Al coming back so soon. After the unexpected appearance of Dr. Beeks, he was glad to see his friend. Still, he hated the fact that he'd disrupted his plans. "You shouldn't have had to change what you were going to do. I would have been ok alone."

"I know that, Sam. I just felt that with what you told me, there was more to hear." Al gave him a tilted head look and started asking about the news Sam had imparted to him. "You say she came over? How long after I left? You think she might have been spying on us?"

"I don't know how long you'd been gone," Sam replied going back to the kitchen. "I told you. I was asleep on the couch and when I woke up, there she was." He pulled a can of soup out of one of the cabinets and looked at trying to decide if it was worth trying to get the soup down his sore throat. "I don't know how long she was here or if she was any place else in the house."

"Hmmm," Al said, thinking. "Did you check the other rooms?"

"Yeah. Nothing seemed out of place." Sam put the can back where he'd found it not up to trying it. He pulled a bowl of Jello from the fridge instead and grabbed a spoon. Since the bowl was almost empty, he didn't see any reason to put the Jello into another bowl. "I just don't like the idea of her just coming in like that."

"I get you there, Kid. Did she say why she came in?"

"Said she wanted to see how I was doing." Sam shrugged not sure what to think. "I don't know. Maybe she did just come over to see how I was and the door was unlocked." He poked at the Jello with the spoon. "I guess I should just be thankful it was her and not someone else."

Al sighed. "Sorry, Kid. I guess I didn't lock it when Tina and I left." He noted that Sam was picking at his food. "It's not like you get many people out here that aren't supposed to be here."

"It can happen. If you wanted to break into a house, would you pick the one with neighbors close by or the one in the middle of no where?"

Al had to concede that point.

Sam put a bit of the Jello in his mouth then dropped the spoon. "I'm so tired of eating this stuff. I want a burger or chili or something."

Sympathizing with his friend, the older man told him, "Yeah. That soft diet would drive me batty." As to the situation they were discussing, he finally said, "I guess she could have really just been concerned, but I have my doubts. Anything else interesting happen today?"

"Mom called. I told her you'd call her back. Oh, and you got a call. It's on the answering machine - something about a meeting in DC this week."

"You're kidding. This week? I was planning on staying around and helping you out." Al went to the refrigerator and pulled out one of the cartons of ice cream.

"No, you don't have to do that,' Sam said firmly - or as firmly as he could given how his voice sounded. "I'm ok now and I can be by myself." He got up and put the bowl from the Jello in the sink. "As a matter of fact, I think you should go back to the project tomorrow. The two of us shouldn't be gone this long."

Al was about to argue with Sam about him being ok but figured based on the sound of his voice that it wouldn't go over very well. He knew that Sam was healing and the fact he was mostly ok after spending the day on his own was telling. "Ok, Kid. If I have a trip to go on, I'll need to get into the office anyways. Besides, I'm only an hour away if you do need me."

"I mean, just because I'm still taking the Percoset doesn't mean I need you to babysit me," Sam continued not seeming, at first, to hear what Al had said. "Wait a minute, did you just agree with me?"

"Yeah," Al said, grinning at Sam's belief that he'd automatically argue the point with him. "Listen, Kid, I know things are moving forward for you. I mean, it's not like you're going to do anything strenuous staying at home a few days and like I said, I'll only be an hour away tomorrow."

"Um, ok. So, you just going to hold onto that ice cream all day?"

"No," Al said, realizing the conversation had pulled his focus away. "I'm going to fix myself a bowl. You want any?"

"Yeah. I'll just pretend it's a pizza," Sam responded with a small smile. He pulled down two bowls from the cupboard. "So, you pick up the car?"

"It's out front. I plan to bring it around to the garage after the ice cream."

The two men made small talk bout Al's trip to pick up the car as they ate the ice cream. Afterwards, Al went out to move the car into the garage. That taken care of, he called Sam's mother and let her know her son was doing well. Then the two spent a quiet night watching TV.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Al went into his office at the project early the next morning. The night before he'd called Sam's mother then listened to the answering machine and got the general gist of what was needed. Reading the email, he'd sent back the response that he'd be there for the meeting at the Pentagon. The topic wasn't about the project, but rather was a Naval issue. He was occasionally called in as a consultant and this was one of those times. When he told Sam he couldn't talk about the topic, Sam just nodded and they went on with life.

Now, Al found a stack of mail on his desk. He'd been out since going to the pre-op appointment with Sam the previous Tuesday and there was quite a bit. Going though it, he found the mailroom had again given him one of Sam's letters from Weitzman.

He sighed. After the last time when he'd withheld the information from Sam after accidentally opening the letter, he'd given the kid reason to question their relationship. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He'd just make sure the kid got the letter unopened. They could deal with whatever the knucklehead Senator said together if Sam wished to share the information.

Al was almost ready to start his day. He decided to pick up another cup of coffee and sweet roll at the cafeteria. He was checking out when he saw Dr. Beeks come into the room. Figuring he needed to make sure there were no repeats of yesterday, he walked over to her before she got into line. "Dr. Beeks, do you have a moment?"

Verbena was surprised when Al asked to speak with her. He'd done nearly as good a job avoiding her as Sam Beckett had. "Certainly, Admiral," she readily agreed. "I'd been hoping we could sit down and talk."

"Why don't you get your coffee or whatever and join me then."

"No, that's quite all right. I can wait." She looked around the somewhat crowded cafeteria. "Would you like to go somewhere a bit more private?

"No. This will be fine. I just want to talk with you about yesterday."

It shouldn't surprise her that he wanted to talk about what had happened yesterday. What did surprise her was that he'd waited this long. She had been expecting to get a phone call from him yesterday already. "Dr. Beckett told you what happened," she correctly guessed.

"Yes, he did." He paused for a moment wondering how much to say. "I understand the door was open and you just...um...walked in?"

"That's not quite what happened, Admiral." Verbena bristled at the accusation that she'd taken the liberty just to enter Sam's home for no reason. "I knocked and I called out. I was concerned when there was no answer and I found the door unlocked. I just wanted to make sure Dr. Beckett wasn't in some kind of trouble."

"And that's all you did? Check on Sam?" Al still wasn't sure he trusted her.

"Of course," Verbena answered with a small, nervous laugh. "What else do you think I did? Ransack his house?"

Al didn't want to accuse her of something he didn't have proof of. "No, but Sam said he was sleeping and didn't know exactly how long you were at the house."

"Admiral, if you're accusing me of something, just say it." Verbena's voice got hard as she realized just what the man was thinking and wasn't saying. "I was there for all of a minute before he woke up. I did nothing more than check on him. That was it."

"Ok." He decided not to push it at this point. "I did want to let you know, I've been called out of town for a couple of days. I'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon and I'll be back by one p.m. on Thursday. During that time, I want you to promise me you will not go to Sam's house to check on him. Waking up to someone he didn't expect in his home was disconcerting to him." He added, "A normal reaction for anyone, don't you think?"

Verbena was taken aback by the vehemence in Al's voice. "I'm sure it was and I do apologize." Again, she couldn't help but think there was something between the two men that went much deeper than friendship. Al may have been asking her to promise not to go near Sam but she had the distinct impression it was just his polite way or ordering her and she had the feeling there was an unspoken promise that there'd be hell to pay if she did. "You have my word that I won't disturb Dr. Beckett while you're gone."

"Thank you," Al told her. "I'm sure that once Sam recuperates from this latest surgery that he'll set up some time to talk with you."

"I'm sure he will." There was just enough doubt in Verbena's voice to convey what she thought of that statement. She wasn't going to hold her breath that Sam would actually seek her out. If she were ever going to have time with him, she was going to have to be the one to institute it. She'd wait until he'd recovered, though. She was not the type to push at someone when they were not at their best. "I hope you have a good trip," she said, "and don't worry, Dr. Beckett won't be disturbed by me."

Al heard the doubt in Dr. Beeks voice but ignored it. He got up to head out. "I need to get some work completed before I leave. You'll excuse me?"

"Certainly." Verbena also rose and watched as Al departed.

"The Admiral getting all 'Papa Bear' again," a voice said behind her.

She turned to see the project's cook behind her. "Papa Bear?"

"It's just a name some of us have around here for him. The longer you're here, you'll see. The Admiral's rather protective of Dr. Beckett, kinda like a papa bear so..."

"I see." Verbena excused herself and walked off. Evidently, she wasn't the only one to see there was something besides just friendship.

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Al had arrived and checked in at the airport. The flight would be boarding soon and as he sat, going over in his mind the various things he had to take care of, he realized he hadn't given Sam the letter. It was still at the house sitting on the kitchen shelf where he'd set it down when he started fixing Sam's dinner the night before. He'd come home to find out that the kid had eaten nothing but ice cream all day and he'd been sure to remedy that by making him some macaroni and cheese. He decided he'd better call Sam. Going over to a pay phone, he dialed the number.

"Hello," was the somewhat distracted answer when the phone was picked up.

"Sam? It's Al." At the sound of the kid's voice he asked, "You ok?"

"I'm fine. I was reading, ok. Are you going to keep checking up on me? If you are, I'm going to pull out the phone. You can't have even boarded yet." Sam's voice conveyed his irritation to be receiving a phone call already from Al. "Didn't you listen when I said I'm a big boy and I can stay home alone?"

"I know that, Sam," Al said with a bit of annoyance as well. "That's not why I'm calling. I forgot to tell you about something."

"What did you forget?" Sam asked, "It better not be that you taped a list of emergency phone numbers to the wall."

"No, not that. Anyways, you know where the emergency numbers are." Hearing the pause, he knew he'd better get to the point. "I left a letter from Weitzman on the shelf in the kitchen where you have your cookbooks? You know, those things that might help you cook better if you opened them."

"I know what a cookbook is," Sam responded in irritation. "When did this letter come in and what's it about this time?" Although he tried, Sam couldn't quell all the suspicion in his voice.

Hearing the stress in Sam's voice, Al answered quickly. "I found it with my mail at the office yesterday. It could have come in any time between last Wednesday and Friday. I really don't know for sure. As to what's in it? I have no idea. It's still sealed." Al added, "I meant to give it to you last night but got caught up with fixing dinner and forgot."

"Well, I'll check what it is. He's probably complaining about something." Sam felt bad for even thinking that Al had withheld something from him again.

"It is Weitzman." Al heard the announcement about boarding. Hey, Sam? I have to go now. They've started to board the plane."

"Ok, Al. Have a good trip."

"Ok. Thanks. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"I might take a drive tomorrow. I'm getting kind of bored being at home so if you I don't answer, that's probably why." Sam thought it best not to share with his friend that what he really intended was to drive out to the project and see if there was any work there, he could take home with him.

"You sure that's..." Al stopped suddenly, hearing another boarding announcement. "All right, Sam. If the Doctor says that's ok, fine. I've really got to go. Talk with you later." With that, he hung up, rushing up to get in the back of the rather short line of passengers still boarding.

Sam flinched slightly when he heard the phone disconnect before he had a chance to say anything but shrugged knowing Al didn't mean anything by it. He hung up the phone and went to get the letter Al had told him about. Sure enough, the white envelope with Weitzman's return address was on the shelf with his meager collection of cookbooks.

Grabbing a knife from the drawer, he slit the top and pulled the letter out. It was short, and to the point. Weitzman was harping about certain aspects of the project falling behind and his doubt that Sam could handle the situation. He specifically pointed out the problem with the cabling.

Uttering a few choice words, Sam crumpled the letter and threw it across the room. The threat in it was implicit. Either he get things back on track or he'd find the funding pulled.

He wasn't just going to drive out to pick up some work tomorrow. He'd be staying and doing anything he had to make sure everything was back on track. He was not going to give Weitzman any ammunition if he could help it.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Sam was up early the next morning to make the drive out the project. The night before he'd gotten together everything he needed to make sure he brought with him. Unfortunately, since he was driving, that meant he had to do without the Percocet and settled for Tylenol instead.

When he got to the Project, everyone was surprised to see him but he brushed off any of their concern. The first thing he checked on was the status of the cabling. It was due in late in the day so that meant he could get to work on it the next day. In the meantime, he spent the day in his office catching up on the paperwork that had started to build up.

One of the few times he emerged from his office, Dr. Beeks had been outside speaking with his assistant Jenny. He'd thought for sure the woman would take the opportunity to try to press him for a meeting but she'd quickly departed. Although he was grateful she didn't choose to press him, he was also curious that she hadn't even tried.

It was after 6:00 when he realized that Al had said he'd call today. He dialed his home number and, when the answering machine picked up, put in the code to play the messages. There was one and, sure enough, it was Al.

"Hi Sam. Just a quick call. I have to go out to dinner with some of the Navy brass. You know how that goes. Hope things are ok. Guess you decided to go out on that drive. If there's anything amiss, just call and leave a message at the hotel." Al then left the hotel phone number and his room number. The call ended with Al reminding him he'd be back the next afternoon.

He made note of the contact information for Al and debated calling and telling him he'd be at the project but decided against it. He just wasn't in the mood to have his friend call back and read him the riot act. He'd find out soon enough tomorrow when he got back just what Sam had been up to.

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The next morning Sam went by his office long enough to check to see if there were any messages. He half-suspected that Al might have figured out where he went yesterday and called him here but there was no message from him.

Since the cabling they'd been waiting for had been delivered yesterday, he made his way down to the lowest level of the complex where it was to be installed. There were already two other workers there starting work on laying the cable when he arrived

One of the men, Sal Ramirez, greeted him, "Hello, Dr. Beckett. Good to see you back."

"Thanks, Sal. We're running behind on getting this in place so I'm going to be working with you today," he told them. It wasn't out of the ordinary for the Project Director to roll up his sleeves and join in with some of the construction work so neither of the men was surprised by that. What did surprise them was that he was doing the work so soon after surgery.

"Um, you sure that's a good idea?" asked Sal. "Weren't you in the hospital last week? Admiral Calavicci told us that you might not be able to do much but paperwork for awhile."

"I'm sure, Sal. The Admiral's just being his usual over-protective self, that's all." Sam's voice left little doubt that that was the end of that conversation. He rolled up his sleeves and looked over the work to be done. "Let's get going on this. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done with it."

Sal nodded and gave the other guys a thumbs up. For the next four hours, they all worked together as a team. Sal had noticed Dr. Beckett swallowing and grimacing frequently but the physicist had brushed aside his concern when he asked, telling him everything was all right. They broke for lunch about 11:30 a.m.

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When Al landed at the Albuquerque airport, he had everything he needed in his carry-on so he knew he could get on his way. He'd been rather surprised when he hadn't received a call from Sam the night before but figured that the kid might have gone out to dinner or some such thing. He decided to call now, though, and check on how he was feeling.

When he got the answering machine again at Sam's house, he became somewhat suspicious. Sam hadn't said where he was going for the drive and Al had a sneaking suspicion that Sam might have just gone back to work.

He called the project and received conformation about his concern. Sam was at lunch currently though, and Al didn't want to disturb that. Still, it would mean going directly to the project. He went out to his car to make the hour and a half drive to PQL.

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Still not up to eating solid foods, Sam took some mashed potatoes for lunch but passed on the fried chicken. He didn't have much of an appetite and forced himself to eat what was on his plate knowing that if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to continue with the work that needed to be done. Once Sal and Ed were finished with their lunch, the three men returned to the cabling project.

As they reached the area they were working in, Sam felt the same annoying tickle he'd been feeling in the back of his throat for the last couple of hours. He pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it. He froze when he pulled the handkerchief away and saw the bright red blood that now stained it. "Oh no," he gasped out.

Sal turned to him, hearing the fear in his boss's voice. "What's wrong, Dr. Beckett?"

Sam didn't answer, just kept looking at the handkerchief trying to convince himself he wasn't seeing what he was seeing.

Sal noticed the handkerchief in the physicist's hand. "Um, I'm not a doctor or anything but is that normal? I mean I wouldn't think..."

"No. It's not supposed to happen." Sam wasn't sure if it was Sal's question he was answering or if he was arguing with fate.

Seeing that Dr. Beckett seemed frozen in his spot, Sal asked him, "You need me to do anything? Call someone?"

"It's not happening," Sam said in a daze. Again, he coughed into the handkerchief adding more blood to it. He took an uncertain step backwards, felt the wall at his back, and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He didn't take his eyes off the blood. "Al's gonna kill me," he said still dazed.

Sal realized that Dr. Beckett wasn't going to take care of this. He'd already said it wasn't normal and now, there was more blood. He decided he should act. He knew that the Admiral was out of the building. Something about a trip to Washington. Thus, when he went to the phone next to the elevator, leaving Ed to stay with Dr. Beckett, he called Dr. Gushman. The phone was answered rather meekly.

"Gooshie here. Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah. Dr. Gushman? This is Sal Ramirez. I'm working with Dr. Beckett on the cabling." He paused for a moment to reassess if this was really the best plan of action but looking back down the hallway at the injured man and his friend, he figured he had better at least let someone know. "Anyways, I think something may be wrong with Dr. Beckett. He's coughing blood into his handkerchief and says that's not supposed to be happening. Can you get someone who can help him?"

Gooshie's eyes widened at what he was hearing. He wasn't up on human physiology - after all, his forte was computer programming - but this didn't sound good. Having met briefly with the new psychiatrist, a Dr. Beeks, he decided that perhaps she would be the best person on the project to address this. He knew that psychiatrists had to have medical training based on his cousin Moishe's schooling. "All right. Give me a few minutes. Which level are you on?"

Sal quickly told him his location and the two men ceased their conversation. Sal walked back to Ed and Dr. Beckett. "I've called. They're sending someone to help." He noticed that by this point, the handkerchief had less whiteness than before. "Until they get here, should we do anything?"

Sam knew he should know the answer to that but it seemed as if all of his medical knowledge had gone out of his head. He shook his head slightly at the man.

Sal nodded and told Ed to go back to the elevator and wait for help to come. In the meantime, he figured that being with Sam, even not being able to do anything, would at least let him know that he wasn't alone.

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Gooshie called to the operator and was given the number to Dr. Beeks office. He dialed it, hoping that this woman would have more too her than what Admiral Calavicci seemed to imply strongly, that the only reason she was there was to find a reason to shut them down. He had a slight concern that calling her now would do just that.

"Dr. Beeks," Verbena answered as soon as the phone rang.

"Dr. Beeks? I believe we have a medical situation on Level 15. It's a secured area but I think, under the circumstances, we'll just have a Marine guard accompany you."

"What kind of situation, Dr. Gushman?" It had been Verbena's understanding that Dr. Beckett was generally the one to take care of any emergencies that came up unless he wasn't around. Since she'd seen him earlier, she knew he was present.

Um...I'm not sure. According to Sal Ramirez, who called this in, Dr. Beckett is coughing up blood."

"Have that marine outside my office immediately." Verbena didn't wait for an acknowledgement before hanging up the phone and hoping that the rather mousy man she'd met briefly would be spurred to action.

She pulled her medical bag out of the bottom desk drawer. She didn't generally use it but it sounded like this time it would come in handy. When she pulled open the door to her office, the marine was just raising his hand to knock. "Lead on," she ordered him.

It took several minutes for them to reach Dr. Beckett's location. When they arrived, she saw him sitting against the wall, a dazed expression on his face. Kneeling by him, she gently took his wrist so she could see what he was holding and saw the blood covered handkerchief. "Dr. Beckett?" she called to get his attention. His eyes lifted in her direction. "I'm going to try to help you." Sam barely nodded. "Can one of you gentleman get me some ice water," she asked the men behind her. She didn't take her eyes off her patient and once more took his wrist, this time checking his pulse.

Sal nodded and grabbed his thermos. He'd filled it with ice water before leaving the lunchroom. Taking it over to the newest member of PQL, he asked, "Is he going to be all right?"

Verbena took the thermos, ignoring the question, opened it up and poured out a cupful. "I need you to drink this for me, Dr. Beckett," she said holding the cup to his mouth. "How long has this been going on?" she asked as she watched Sam drink the water.

Sal shrugged. "I don't know. The coughing started right after lunch." He thought about what he'd seen in the morning and added, wondering if it might be important. "But all morning, he's been swallowing and grimacing. He said it was nothing."

"It was probably already starting then," Verbena murmured. She wasn't given the opportunity to check to see if the ice water had any effect since Sam once again coughed up more blood into the handkerchief. That was enough to tell her that she wouldn't be able to do anything for him here. "I think we need to take a trip to the ER and let them handle this, Dr. Beckett. Do you concur?" she asked hoping to snap him out of the daze he was in.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam answered uneasily.

"How can we help, ma'am," asked the Marine guard. "Do you need a gurney or ambulance?"

Verbena was going to agree with the man at first but caught the look in Sam's eyes. Right now, that would probably be the worst thing for his state of mind. Although the bleeding was worrisome, right now it wasn't a life-endangering situation. As long as they got to the hospital in good time, he'd be fine. "I don't think we need to go quite to that extreme, Corporal, but if you could help Dr. Beckett up, we could use a ride to the hospital."

"Yes ma'am," the Corporal answered crisply. He followed Dr. Beeks instructions and radioed ahead to have a security vehicle available immediately. Even if an ambulance wasn't needed, having the flashing lights & siren on an official vehicle would allow them to move much quicker.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Al had just arrived at the project. He pulled his car in next to Sam's Jeep in the garage, grumbling again about how the kid just couldn't stay home and rest. No, he always had to be up to something. Well, this time, he was going to say something to the kid. Let him know that he really just needed to take care of himself for a change. He noticed that Sgt. Franklin was pulling a security vehicle out of its place. "Hey, Mike. What's going on?"

"We have a medical situation developing. Need to get Dr. Beckett to the ER."

"What!?" asked Al, highly concerned by this news? "Why? What happened? Did he fall or something?" The questions came fast and furious.

Mike shrugged. "I don't know for certain. All I know is we've been asked to get the car ready."

Al nodded. "Fine. I'm driving."

"You're..." Mike started to say but then saw the looked in the Admiral's eyes. "Um...yes sir." He handed over the keys. Al got in and moved the car to the door where he knew Sam would be exiting from.

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Sam didn't say anything the whole way out of the project but as they exited and he saw Al get out of the security car and jog over to the door, he finally broke his silence. "I'm sorry," he said softly when Al was close enough to hear him.

Al was somewhat surprised by Sam's opening salvo. It sounded like he was blaming himself for whatever was wrong. Deciding there would be time to get to the bottom of the situation later, he gave his friend a reassuring but serious grin. "No time to worry about that now, Kid. We're just going to get you whatever you need." He looked over at Verbena, wondering why she was with him, and then seeing her medical bag, realized she was there as his physician. "Report," he barked in his best military voice.

Verbena was unruffled by Al's demeanor. Her main focus was on getting treatment for Sam. "Dr. Beckett's bleeding in his throat. I suggest we get him to the hospital and save the interrogation for later."

Al was about to argue that fact when he saw the handkerchief that Sam was still carrying. "Right." He helped to get Sam situated in the back seat of the sedan. Dr. Beeks got in beside him to monitor his condition. The Marine guard was sent back to his post. "Hang on." He started pulled out onto the little two-lane road that would take him to the state highway road to Socorro.

Al turned on the siren and the lights and didn't much care who they passed on the way to the hospital. He radioed to Mike to alert the State Patrol of the situation, keeping his voice loud enough for the sergeant to hear but low enough that Sam wouldn't be spooked.

"Admiral, perhaps you should slow down," Verbena suggested after they'd been on the road for a little while.

"Don't worry, Dr. Beeks. I could go at least 50 mph faster and still be in total control of the car. Racing is a hobby of mine."

"That may be true Admiral, but even race car drivers have accidents. You won't do Dr. Beckett or any of us any good if you get into one."

As they continued up the very straight road, it became apparent there was a slow moving piece of farm equipment in front of them on the two-lane road. As Al passed it easily, the farm equipment looked as if it was standing still.

"Slow down, Al," Sam implored. The thought of Al getting into an accident because of him was enough to pull Sam, at least for a moment out of his distracted state.

Hearing Sam's concern, Al sighed. "All right, Kid. For you." He slowed slightly, but still kept the speed up so that they shaved a full 20 minutes off the normal drive to Socorro. As they pulled up to the ER, Al stated, "You two get in there. I'll be in as soon as I park the car."

Verbena helped Sam out of the backseat and into the ER. As soon as she described the problem, Sam was taken right back. When Al came in a few minutes later, she was sitting on one of the waiting room chairs. "You'll need to fill this out," she said as she handed him a sheaf of papers.

Al nodded. It felt like he'd been through this drill a hundred times. Once he was finished, he took them over to the admitting nurse. He started to turn away when she stopped him. "We have just a few more forms."

"What? Didn't I just sign away my partner's first born son already?"

The nurse gave him a glowering stare. "No, sir. However these forms will authorize emergency surgery."

Al's eyes widened and his voice grew louder. "Emergency surgery? Why would he need..."

"If they can't get the bleeding to stop by conventional means, they'll have to take him back into surgery," Verbena explained as she came up behind Al. She'd overheard the exchange at the desk. "You'll need to sign that or they're just going to have to come out here and get your signature anyway. I take it Dr. Beckett's named you his medical proxy."

"Um, yeah. It seemed to be a good thing to do, being partners and all." Al sighed again and signed all the documents. "God, I hope he's going to be ok."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, Admiral but all we can do now is wait," Verbena assured.

As the two took seats in the waiting room, Dr. Sanders came out from the treatment area and went right over to Al. "Admiral, I was on call when Sam came in and I thought you'd be here. I don't have long. Right now, we haven't been able to get the bleeding to stop so we're going to have to take him into surgery. You know where the waiting room there is if you want to go up. I'll be out to let you know as soon as the surgery's done but I really do have to go now."

"You're taking him back in for surgery? It's that serious?"

"If we don't stop the bleeding, yes, it could be that serious. I really do have to go, Admiral. I don't want to put this off any longer than necessary."

"But..." he said, wanting more information. Seeing Dr. Sander's eyes, he knew this wasn't the time. "Ok. Whatever you need to do, Dr. Sander's. Just take care of Sam."

With a quick nod, the doctor departed.

"C'mon, Admiral, let's go up to the surgical waiting room," Verbena suggested. She understood the gravity of the surgery Sam was facing. Although not life threatening itself, going under general anesthesia without fasting was not without its dangers. She debated whether Al needed to know this.

As they arrived at the surgical waiting room, Al went over to his chair. "Damn it, I shouldn't have left. I should just have told Admiral Platz that I couldn't be there." He took a breath. "I wish I knew what was going on in there."

"There's nothing you could have done, Admiral," Verbena tried to comfort. "I'm sure it won't take them long and Dr. Sanders will be out in no time."

He looked over to her. "Nothing I could have done? If I'd stayed here, I could have made sure Sam stayed at home. Even if this bleeding still happened, he would have been closer to the hospital." He paused. "You're sure this surgery doesn't take long?"

I can't guarantee that but, no, it shouldn't," Verbena responded. The two of them settled in to wait out this latest round of Sam's hospital adventures.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Damn it, what's taking them so long?" Al wondered as he made another circuit of the waiting room. It had been much longer than he thought it would be since Sam was taken into surgery. Even Beeks looked like she was starting to get impatient.

Verbena was sitting on one of the waiting room chairs as she had been since they'd arrived. "Now I understand what's going on," she said rising from the chair to intercept Al.

"I don't know what you think you know but whatever it is, you're dead wrong," Al told her as he brushed past her and began another circuit of the waiting room.

"Admiral," she called after him, "hang on. I didn't mean what you seem to think I meant."

Al did stop when she asked him to and turned to face her. "So what did you mean if it's not what I thought you meant?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, a slight smile played on Al's face, as he was all too willing to play games with the psychiatrist.

Dr. Beeks stopped short honestly surprised that Al had stopped when she asked. In the short time that she'd been at PQL the only one who'd done a better job of avoiding her had been Dr. Beckett.

"What I meant, Admiral, was that now I'm beginning to understand your relationship and involvement with Dr. Beckett."

Before she had time to blink, Al advanced quickly on her and invaded her personal space. "Look, Lady, whatever you think is going on, you're wrong – dead wrong. I find out you're starting any rumors or sending any wrong information back to Weitzman you're gonna be dealing with me. You wanna know what my relationship is with Dr. Beckett – we're friends. It's as simple as that and as far as our involvement, the project is it. "That's all there is too it, you got it? And don't you dare do or say anything that's gonna take this away from him."

Verbena should have been intimidated by Al's response and attitude and deep down she was. She surprised him, though, when she started to laugh softly at him.

"My God, you don't see it yourself, do you? Don't worry, Admiral, I wasn't trying to imply that your relationship with Dr. Beckett was anything anyone would disapprove of. Your defense of him right now, though, has just cemented what I've been observing. He's your child."

Now it was Al's turn to laugh. "My child?! You might wanna start reading through your files again. Sam Beckett is no more my child than you are."

Dr. Beeks remained unflappable in the face of Al's mirth. "I didn't mean it in the literal sense, Admiral. I'm quite aware that there are no biological ties between you and Dr. Beckett. However, that doesn't mean that a familial bond doesn't exist between the two of you."

Al was quickly losing patience with Dr. Beeks. When it came to psychiatrists, he'd had more than enough experience with them after he got back from 'Nam and his threshold when dealing with them was pretty low. Now, waiting to hear how Sam was, it was even lower. "Look, I don't have time for all this mumbo jumbo, Doc. What the hell are you getting at and make it fast, huh? I really don't have time to be dealing with you."

"Do you have any children, Admiral?"

"If you'd bothered to read my file you'd know I don't – or at least none I'm aware of. Why?"

"Bear with me, Admiral. Where's Dr. Beckett's father right now?"

"You really haven't done your homework have you?" Al said in frustration.

Dr. Beeks simply raised one eyebrow and waited for him to answer her.

"If you had," Al continued, "You'd know that John Beckett's been deceased for a little over 20 years now."

"And that would have made Dr. Beckett what? In his early 20's when his father passed away."

"Try two months after his 19th birthday," Al told her. "I still don't see what you're getting at."

"Just a few months after his 19th birthday – that's a young age to lose a parent. And just three years before that his older brother was killed in Vietnam. Just a few months before his father's death he'd graduated from M.I.T. and he was already accepted into their doctoral program as well as the doctoral program in music at Harvard. That's an awful lot of big stuff to happen to someone who's just 19. Yes, Admiral I have done my homework on both you and Dr. Beckett. I know that at a very young age he already had an IQ so high it couldn't be measured, that he grew up in a small town in Indiana on a farm, all of the degrees he holds he's earned, none of them are honorary, and he earned them in a relatively short amount of time. I also know that his work on StarBright was the first time he left the academic field. Most of Dr. Beckett's adult life has been spent either in school earning those degrees or in labs. In short, he really hasn't had a lot of contact with the outside world."

Al had to laugh again, "If you're trying to insinuate that Sam's naïve you couldn't be further from the truth."

"No such thing," Dr. Beeks continued undeterred. "What I am saying is that his life has been much more sheltered than either yours or mine but he's also had to deal with some pretty heavy stuff. He lost two important people in his life in a relatively short span of time. He's always been just that much smarter and that much more advanced than everyone around him. No, I wouldn't say Dr. Beckett's naïve at all although I would say he's an innocent. He's the kind of person the world would just love to eat up and he probably wouldn't see it coming. That's where you come in Admiral. You're nearly the total opposite of Dr. Beckett. Where his life has been quite sheltered you've seen everything this world has to offer – the good and the bad. From what I can see you have a natural protective streak in you, too. A need to protect the underdog, if you will. It doesn't say it anywhere in your file but I'd be willing to bet there was someone at some point in your life who was helpless to fend off the world that you felt responsible for and maybe, just maybe, you weren't able to stop something bad from happening to that person."

Al tried not to flinch when Dr. Beeks described him. He'd been very careful to keep anything about his sister Trudy out of any of his files but somehow, without knowing who she was talking about, Dr. Beeks had managed to nail it.

"Am I wrong, Admiral?" she asked him.

"Whether you are or you aren't," he answered not giving anything about Trudy away, "what's that got to do with me and Sam?"

"You need to protect the innocent, Admiral, and in this case, Dr. Beckett very much fits the bill. I'd say, he's become the son you never had and you've become the father and older brother that he lost all wrapped up in one. I've been watching the two of you the past two and half weeks I've been here. Maybe you don't see it, Admiral, but Dr. Beckett looks up to you. He listens to you. Did you hear his first words when he saw you today? 'I'm sorry,' as if he was afraid of disappointing you. What does that tell you?"

"It tells me that the Kid was blaming himself for what happened, that's what it tells me."

Dr. Beeks smiled and shook her head. "Do you realize you call him "kid" just as often as you call him "Sam" or "Dr. Beckett"? Why do you suppose that is?"

"'Cause he **is** just a kid in case you hadn't noticed that."

"He's going to be 38, Admiral. That's a far cry from being a kid – unless he's your kid. Don't argue it Admiral, there's nothing wrong with it. You look out for him and you take care of him. You defend him where he might not see he needs to defend himself. Answer this for me – what would you do if someone threatened him either physically or emotionally?"

Al fairly growled at her when he answered, "That's not gonna happen. Before they get to him, they're goin' through me first. It's as simple as that."

Dr. Beeks smiled at him, "That's just the answer I'd expect from a parent. Face it, Admiral, Dr. Beckett has become the son you never had. You protect him, you take care of him, you defend him…"

Al tried to interrupt her but she went right over him, "…most important, you care for him – very much."

Al snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. Maybe there was something to what Beeks was saying. "I suppose you've told Sam all this, too?"

The smile finally melted from Dr. Beeks face. "In the time I've been here, Admiral, Dr. Beckett has done his very best to avoid me. You, more than anyone else should know that. I really haven't gotten past exchanging pleasantries with him. Other than you, he's been the hardest person to pin down to talk to. Just between you and me, I think Dr. Beckett is under the impression that I'm here to report back to the committee that he's not mentally competent to be in charge of this project."

"Well," Al challenged her, "aren't you?"

"That might be what the committee would like to hear from me, Admiral, but I can assure you that they're only going to hear that from me if that's what my findings indicate. Right now, since I haven't had the chance to get past hello with Dr. Beckett, I honestly don't know what to think. Frankly, I don't see how Dr. Beckett could have gotten as far as he has if he were mentally incompetent and I'd certainly appreciate it if you didn't go jumping to conclusions about me."

Al was properly chastised. "Sorry, it's just that lately the committee's been looking for a reason to shut us down and that seemed the most likely. You're right; I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and assumed you were here to declare Sam unfit."

Dr. Beeks smiled at him again, "Don't worry about it too much, Admiral. I wouldn't have expected anything less from 'Papa Bear'."

Al was rather surprised at the use of that title. He knew that some at the project had taken to calling him that. It showed that this woman was definitely sharp. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, do you think you can keep your ideas to yourself. I don't need the whole Project knowing that you think I think I'm Sam's father or something."

"Don't worry, Admiral, it'll stay between us. I won't even share it with Dr. Beckett. Somehow I don't think he'd be any more receptive to it than you are."

"Thanks," Al told her as he sank down to one of the waiting room chairs.

"Admiral?" Dr. Beeks asked, "When do you let him grow up?"

"Huh?" Al asked honestly mystified by her question.

"You're not always going to be there to protect him. When are you going to let him grow up and face the world on his own?"

Al stared hard at her before answering. "Never – not if I have anything to say about it. You were right about one thing, Doc; I did lose someone close to me – another innocent I should have protected. It's not going to happen again."

"But what if it does, Admiral? You can't always be with Dr. Beckett every second of the day to make sure nothing happens to him. Every parent has to let their child grow up eventually and face the world on their own – to learn from their mistakes."

"I told you, nothing's gonna happen to the Kid without having to go through me first

…" He was about to say something else when he heard his name being called.

"Admiral Calavicci," Dr. Sanders questioned coming into the waiting room. She made sure she closed the door behind her.

Al turned at his name. "Dr. Sanders! How did the surgery go?" He wasn't thrilled about the serious look on her face. From the few times he'd met her, she'd usually been rather light hearted. He didn't feel her body language bode well at all.

Dr. Sanders gestured to a grouping of chairs in the corner. "Why don't we sit down, Admiral?" Her voice was grave as was her manner.

"Um. Yeah." As he moved to the chair, Al asked point on. "I take it things didn't go well?" His mind was wrapping around so many things including the moment they told him about Trudy.

"Perhaps we could speak alone," Dr. Sanders suggested looking over to Verbena and not answering Al's question.

Al wasn't entirely sure he trusted Dr. Beeks even now. However, her statements in the last thirty minutes rang true to him. "Perhaps she could stay. She's the Doctor who's been with Sam since this started today. She's been helpful in explaining things to me."

"Very well. To answer your question, no things didn't go quite as planned. The bleeding is stopped but there have been some complications," Sanders explained.

"What kind of complications," Verbena asked before Al could.

"I'm sure you know that it's customary before the administration of general anesthesia to have a period of fast so the stomach is empty. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option this time and Sam aspirated some of the contents of his stomach."

Al looked somewhat confused. "What would that do? Did he start coughing again?"

"Unfortunately, no, it's not as simple as that. A pulmonary specialist is treating him right now who'll be out to speak with you as soon as Sam's been stabilized. He'll be able to explain any problems that might arise.."

Al's forehead creased. He didn't like the sound of this. "Problems? What kind of problems.."

"Chemical pneumonitis," Verbena guessed adding to Al's confusion.

"Precisely," Dr. Sanders agreed. "I'm sure you know that the gastric juices are highly acidic to break down food. Those acids can damage the lungs and create symptoms not unlike those found in pneumonia."

"So Sam's got pneumonia again?" Al asked trying to understand what he was being told.

"Not exactly," Dr. Sanders disagreed. "There's no infection right now. It's similar but not really the same."

Al looked deceptively calm as he heard the news. Inside, he was incredibly upset. He couldn't believe this. The kid just couldn't relax and allow himself to heal. Now his pushing to get back to work had caused this. "Thank you, Dr. Sanders." He stopped for a moment. "Do you know when I'll be able to see Sam?"

"It's most likely he'll be moved to ICU," Dr. Sanders explained. Visiting hours are 10 minutes every hour there." Seeing that this wasn't likely to be satisfactory she added, "I'm sure if Dr. Rivers thinks it appropriate, something can be worked out."

"Right." Al took a breath. "Ok. We'll wait to talk with Dr. Rivers and then I'll go get some of Sam's things. If he's going to be in the hospital again, I know he'll want some familiar stuff."

"Dr. Rivers should be out shortly," Dr. Sanders assured before getting up. She rested a hand on Al's shoulder. "He's young, strong and in general good health. That's all going to work for him."

Al nodded. "Yeah. That's what they usually say." He'd had to deal with way too many situations like this. The kid deserved a break.

Fifteen minutes after Dr. Sanders left, Dr. Rivers joined them. He told the two of them essentially the same thing that Dr. Sanders already had and outlined a treatment plan. It was his hope that within a day or two, he'd be able to start to wean Sam off the ventilator provided his lungs were starting to heal. He'd made it plain that it was a serious situation and the recovery period would take some time but he was hopeful, barring any further complications, that Sam would make a complete recovery.

Al asked to see Sam and Dr. Rivers took him up to the ICU. It was explained that due to the fact that Sam was on a ventilator, he was being kept sedated so he wouldn't fight it.

Al went in and once more his heart was saddened to see Sam hooked up to a machine, his rhythmic breathing in sync with the sound of the apparatus. He gripped the bed rail and looked down at his friend who, if not for the tube going into his mouth, would have looked peacefully asleep. He brushed his hand across Sam's forehead. "Ah, Sammy. Why'd you have to push yourself this time?" he asked rhetorically. After a few minutes, he left ICU and went to the waiting room where Dr. Beeks was. "I hope you don't mind riding out with me to Sam's. I'd just as soon not have to go back and forth to the apartment complex and since that's my final destination, it just makes sense we go together.

"No, that's quite all right. I'm sure you could probably use the company." Verbena laid a hand on Al's arm. "Admiral...Al, he's going to be fine. You just need to keep telling yourself that."

"Yeah. I know. It's just..." He stopped for just a second, "Sam pushes himself harder than any human being I've ever known. I'm just afraid that's going to catch up with him someday."

"You need to not think like that and stay positive for his sake," she ordered firmly.

"Ok." He knew there wouldn't be any way he'd win this argument with Dr. Beeks and he really didn't want to. "Positive." They finally made it to the car and went out to Sam's house. Parking out front, Al got out of the car and started to walk to the door. "I know what Sam will want. I'll just be a few minutes."

Verbena got out of the car as well. "Why don't you let me help you," she suggested. She didn't think in the frame of mind Al was in he'd be able to accomplish his task without someone to keep him on track.

"Ok." Al said. He put the key in the door and walked in. He smiled a small grin, seeing that Sam had again left things out in the hall. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with..." He stopped suddenly, remembering what Verbena had said about his Papa Bear actions. He laughed gently. "Sam tends to leave things out all the time." He headed toward the kitchen.

Verbena followed along behind Al. On the way to the kitchen, she noticed some wrappers on the coffee table, veered over to pick them up, and brought them to the kitchen to dispose of. "Looks like he was eating a lot of popsicles," she commented.

"Yeah. They soothed his throat after the surgery. He really likes the orange." "Look at this. Can you believe it?" he asked pointing to the sink. "Dirty dishes in the sink." He went over and started to run a sink of soapy water. "I'll just get these done."

Verbena watched as Al filled the sink and started to wash the dishes with quick, choppy motions. She guessed that as long as he did something as mundane as washing dirty dishes, he could forget how serious the situation was. When a plate slipped from his hand and shattered on the edge of the sink, she moved to stop him. "Let me. Go pack what he needs."

Al looked at the plate for a long moment. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea, huh." He turned and walked out of the kitchen going to Sam's room.

The first thing he saw when he walked in the room was the towel Sam had left on the bed after his shower the other morning. He picked it up to take to the bathroom and stopped, just looking at it. He wondered if he'd have the opportunity to get on Sam's case about leaving towels on the bed ever again. From the way the doctors were talking this chemical pneumonitis sounded ominous.

Sighing, he took the towel to the bathroom then got the small duffle bag out of Sam's closet and started to fill it. "Way too many times, Kid, way too many times," he said softly as he packed.

After finishing the dishes in the sink, Verbena started to straighten up what she could in the kitchen. As she did, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper under the kitchen table and bent over to pick it up. Without thinking, she smoothed out the paper and scanned its contents. The fact that she was intruding on Dr. Beckett's privacy did prick at her but she pushed it aside. "Son of bitch," she murmured as the full weight of the letter hit her. It was something the Admiral should see and she brought it to him in Sam's room. "I think you should read this," she said holding it out. "It might explain why Dr. Beckett pushed so hard."

"What?" Al asked. He saw the newly smoothed letter in her hands and took it from her. As he read the letter, his face became darkly angry. If Verbena had had any reason to question her reading of the man, she now saw her analysis brought home in spades. "I'll kill him. I swear by all that's holy, I'll kill him!" The words were said with all the intensity of a vendetta.

Coming from any other man, Verbena would have taken the words spoken as empty threats. Coming from the man in front of her, she knew they were a promise. "That's not going to help, Admiral. You do that and they'll put you away," she said reasonably. "Dr. Beckett...Sam needs you here not in a prison somewhere."

"How could he do this?" he asked waving the letter. "He knows what this project means to Sam. He had to know." Al stopped, realizing that if he'd never given Sam the letter, the kid would likely not be lying in the ICU at this minute. "I should have opened the letter at the project. I could have kept Sam from ever seeing this. Damn it!"

"Self recrimination is going to accomplish nothing," Verbena said harshly. From what she knew of the man, letting him wallow in his own guilt was not the way to go. "The fault lies with Senator Weitzman only - not with you and not with Dr. Beckett."

"Yeah. Weitzman, that nozzle. I can't believe he'd stoop this low." Al looked at Verbena. "You couldn't go to bat for me and let me kill him under temporary insanity?" He said it tongue in cheek, but part of him meant it.

"It's tempting, Admiral, very tempting but you'd still be locked away somewhere. If not in prison, than in an institution. I don't relish being the one to have to break that news to Dr. Beckett." She dropped all pretense of humor. "You need to think of him and how your actions will affect him if you go looking for some kind of revenge. I've seen how he depends on you and trusts you. He's going to get through this not just because he has good doctors but because you're there supporting him."

"Yeah," Al acknowledged. "Sam." He bit the inside of his cheek. "I would like to throttle Weitzman though, but I guess that would give him exactly what he wants. He could shut down the project. I can't let that happen."

"No, you can't and that's your greatest revenge on him," Verbena agreed. "Now you finish getting together what you need for Sam and I'll finish cleaning up the kitchen. You're right, you know," she said with a small smile. "It seems Dr. Beckett does need someone to pick up after him."

"Well, I'm glad someone other than Thelma sees that," Al grinned. He stopped. "But all I can say is that Sam better be ok."

"He will be, Admiral," Verbena stated firmly. "You just need to have faith."

"Yeah. Faith." Al blew out a breath. "Well, let me get these things packed. I should be ready in about five minutes or so."

A few minutes later and Al zipped up the bag. He noticed Bear but thought that Sam might not be as happy about him bringing his childhood friend to the hospital this time. "Sorry, Pal. Sam will be home soon, I'm sure." He picked up the bear and put him on the shelf with Sam's videos.

Verbena poked her head in the room just as Al was putting Bear with the videos. She was tempted to ask if the stuffed toy had any significance but decided that was a part of Sam's life she had no right asking about. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I'm all set."

During the ride back to the apartment complex, Al got to know Verbena a little better. By the time he arrived, he was feeling much more comfortable with her. As she left the car, he told her. "I'm sorry we assumed you were trying to undermine Sam. You see though, the lengths Weitzman will go. We had to be sure."

"I do understand, Admiral and I'm sorry there's been so much trouble." She got out of the car but put her head back in. "I know you're going back to the hospital. Don't forget about yourself, though. You'll be no use to anyone if you wear yourself out."

Al laughed. "You're good, Verbena. I'll give you that. I guess I'll need to drive you back tomorrow morning so we can return the project's car and get our own. Sam's can stay out there until he's better. I'll pick you up about eight?"

"I'll be ready."

Al went over to his own apartment and grabbed a few things he would need as well. One of those things was the book that Sam had given him for Christmas, _The Three Musketeers_. Knowing that Sam would be out for the count, he'd decided he was going to read him when he could.

Once he had everything he needed, he went back to the hospital to set up his vigil. If he was only going to see Sam in ten-minute increments, he was going to make the most of them.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Al spent the night in the hospital waiting room, visiting Sam whenever he could. The nurses suggested that it was unlikely that the man was hearing any of the story he was reading to him but he shrugged, telling them if the kid got any comfort at all from it, it was worth it. If not, then it couldn't hurt.

In the morning, he'd taken Verbena to the project and returned just as quickly to the hospital, bringing his car with him. He again set up vigil and that was how Dr. Rivers found him.

It was early afternoon when Dr. Rivers entered Sam's ICU and found Al sitting by his bedside reading to him once more. Each time he'd come in to the ICU area, he'd found the man either sitting by his friend's bedside or sitting in the waiting room waiting for his next 10 minute visit. "You don't take a break do you?"

Al shook his head. "Nope."

"You can't be here all the time, you do realize that," Rivers pointed out. "You need time for yourself to get rest and eat. You can't do any of that if you're sitting in here or out in the waiting room."

"Well, I have 50 minutes in every hour to take care of other things." Al paused. "You might need to have your vending machine restocked."

"Vending machine snacks and hospital coffee are no way to live - especially the hospital coffee," Dr. Rivers said with a smile. He took note of the readouts on the machines surrounding Sam before again looking at Al. "Could I see you outside for a moment?"

Al looked over at Sam. The man in the bed showed no sign of knowing what was going on. "I'll be back in a minute, Buddy. You just sit tight and we'll be back to d'Artangnan's adventures, ok?" With that, he got up and followed the doctor into the hall. "What did you want to see me about?"

"I'd like to make a deal with you, Admiral, a deal I'd suggest you take."

Al wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. "I'm listening."

"It's simple. I'll allow you unrestricted access to Dr. Beckett's room on one condition. You don't arrive here any earlier than 9:00 in the morning, you leave here promptly at 9:00 at night and you take an hour in the afternoon to get some lunch and an hour in the evening for dinner." Rivers was quite firm when laying out his deal, his tone clearly indicating that he wouldn't be open to haggling.

"And during the 12 hours when Sam's alone?" Al asked. He realized that Rivers wasn't being unreasonable, but still he had to make sure that Sam's needs were being met.

"You will go home and rest and the staff will care for him. That is what they're here for, you know."

Al nodded. "I know." He looked back at Sam. "And if I don't take the deal?"

"If you don't take the deal then you'll only be able to sit with him for ten minutes out of every hour during visiting hours only. That's from noon to 8:00. I think I'm being quite generous."

Al nodded. "You drive a hard bargain." Before the man could say anything more, Al relented. "Deal."

"Good. I thought you'd see it that way. There's one more thing," he pinned Al with his eyes making sure he was understood. "You will not get in the way of the nursing staff and if they ask you to leave the room for any reason, you'll do so without arguing. The first time I hear of you not adhering to the terms of the deal, I'll make sure you're only restricted to those 10 minutes during visiting hours." His voice gentled and he smiled slightly. "I'd rather not do that. I've noticed that Dr. Beckett's vital signs are stronger when you're in there with him. For his sake, I'd like you to be able to spend as much time with him as you can."

Al nodded. "Trust me, I know how not to get in the way. I've had lots of practice." He wasn't totally surprised to hear that Sam was doing better when he was there. He'd learned that before as well.

"Good," the doctor said with a quick nod. "So I guess we have a deal."

"We do. Now, I promised Sam I'd get back to d'Artagnan. You'll excuse me?"

"Of course," the doctor said stepping out of the way. "Just one question. Why _The Three Musketeers_?"

"Sam gave me the book for Christmas. I thought he'd enjoy hearing it."

"Well, he certainly seems to be responding to it. I won't keep you any longer but Admiral," Rivers called as Al started back into the room. When the man had turned around, he continued, "In four hours you're to take yourself down to the cafeteria and get some dinner, understand."

"Yeah. I won't disappoint." Al headed back to regale Sam with the tale of the swashbuckling heroes.

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Al suppressed a yawn as he got out of his car. It had been a long day and he had to admit, the idea of sleeping in his own bed and not the chair in the ICU waiting room like the night before was a good one. He locked up and started towards his apartment. He saw Verbena bring a bag of trash out. "You need any help with that?" Before she could answer, he took the bag from her.

"How's Sam doing?" she asked watching him take the bag to the dumpster. Somehow when she'd stopped by the hospital to check this afternoon she'd gone from calling him Dr. Beckett to Sam. Likewise, she'd stopped addressing Al as Admiral.

"He's doing well. Dr. Rivers says he's making fast progress. Certainly more than he'd expected at this stage."

"That's good. I'm surprised to see you home already."

"Well, Dr. Rivers made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"Really?" Verbena asked with a raised eyebrow. "This sounds like it could be interesting."

Al breathed out a sigh. "I guess he wanted to make sure I was eating and resting as well. He said that as long as I didn't arrive before 9 in the morning and left by 9 at night and took specific breaks, I could stay with Sam all I wanted."

"I'm sure Sam's finding it comforting that you're there with him," she responded. As she opened the door to the apartment complex, she casually said, "I had an interesting phone call with Senator Weitzman today." "Why don't you stop by my apartment for a cup of coffee and I'll tell you about it."

The name sent a wave of concern down Al's spine. "Um, yeah. I'd like to hear about that."

Verbena led the way to her apartment. "Sorry it's still a mess. I haven't had much time to unpack." She went into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee together.

"No problem. If you need some time to get things together, let me know. Neither Sam nor I are slave drivers you know."

"Thanks for the offer." She looked around at the boxes still piled up. "I just might have to take you up on it." When the coffee had brewed, she poured two cups and joined Al at the kitchen table. "Senator Weitzman called me today for an update," she said without preamble. "I asked him about the letter."

Al's eyebrows went up as his eyes widened. "You asked him about the letter? What did he say?"

"He tried to deny it," she said flatly stirring sugar into her coffee.

"Sounds about like him. How did he try to explain it?"

"I didn't let him. I told him I'd seen the letter and what the consequences of it were." She slammed the spoon on the table. "I can't believe the bastard showed no remorse. I did get out of him, though, that the other members of the committee knew nothing about it."

Al was somewhat surprised at the vehemence of Verbena's response. "I don't think the other members are as adamant as Weitzman about their concerns."

"You've got that right. It seems Senator Weitzman isn't much of a fan of Sam's. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he was scared of him and wants to get him as far away as possible."

"You might be right about that," said Al dryly.

"Hmm...seems you know about the Senator." Verbena had that impression once again of more going on than met the eye but decided this wasn't the time to pry. "At any rate, I told the Senator that if he tried anything like that again, I'd make sure the committee as a whole knew what he was doing. That's when he threatened me and asked how I liked working here." She took a sip from her coffee then smirked. "That's when I told him that he may have foisted me off on Dr. Beckett but that **he** was now my employer and was the one who would be deciding if I stay or go."

Al grinned. "I like you Verbena. You've got what my fourth wif...um...second?...No... third wife would call Moxie."

Verbena didn't comment on Al's difficulty keeping his wives sorted but she did laugh. "I've got a feeling I'm going to need a lot of it to keep up with you."

"Everybody does, Dear. Everybody does."

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Al spent as much time as he could with Sam over the next several days. Three days after aspiration event, Dr. Rivers told Al that Sam was improving faster than he'd thought he would and that he was going to start weaning him off the ventilator that day. If things continued to progress as well as they had, Sam should be completely off of it in the next two to three days.

Since the ventilator was going to be removed, that meant that the sedative Sam was being given was also going to be tapered off so he'd start waking up.

It was just after 9:00 in the morning on the fifth day when Al arrived at Sam's room. The first thing he was immediately aware of was that save for the beep of the heart monitor, the room was quiet. In the time he'd been gone, Sam had been extubated and was now breathing on his own.

He moved over to the bed and found that Sam still had his eyes closed and was breathing peacefully. It did his heart good to see Sam disconnected from ventilator. Not expecting an answer he softly said, "Well, Kid, not long now and you'll be back in action."

"Sir," a nurse said coming up behind Al. She waited until he turned around before handing him a small envelope. "Some flowers were delivered for Dr. Beckett," she explained. "I thought you'd like the card." Apologetically she added, "The flowers can't be brought into the ICU."

"I understand," answered Al as he accepted the envelope. "Do you know if after he leaves here, he'll be put into another room or allowed to go home?"

"I'm really not certain. That's up to Dr. Rivers."

"Yeah. Ok." He thought about what Sam would have wanted done with the gift if he couldn't enjoy it. "Maybe you could give them to someone who doesn't have visitors or something," he suggested. He knew it was something his friend's generous heart would approve of.

"I know exactly who'd enjoy them," the nurse said with a smile. "Gertie's one of our long-term patients in the geriatric ward. I know she'll love them."

"That sounds good. Thanks." Once the nurse had left the room, Al looked at the card that had been with the flowers. They were from Sam's mother. 'Honey, I'm so sorry I can't be there with you. I hope you're on the mend soon. Love, Mom,' was the written sentiment. Al commented on the card as he placed it on Sam's side table. "Your Mom's thinking of you kid, like that would ever change." With a smile he added, "You are one lucky guy, you know that?"

Sam's head moved slightly in Al's direction. "Mmmmmm," he murmured before stilling.

Al smiled when he heard the small sound coming from Sam. He sat by the bed and gently patted his friend's shoulder. "It's good to hear even that, Sam, even if I don't know if you're aiming that 'mmmmm' at me or not." He took a breath and let it out. "You gave me quite a scare again this time. All of us at the project, actually."

Al continued to sit by Sam making small talk hoping it would lead his friend back to consciousness

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From a great distance, Sam was hearing someone talking to him. The voice was comforting and familiar and he knew it had to be Al. No matter what, he was always with him through everything. He wanted to reach out to him but his body felt weighted down. That left only his voice and he called out his friend's name. "Allllllllllll."

"Sam? You awake, buddy?" asked Al when he heard his garbled name.

Sam heard Al's voice again. The words weren't making a lot of sense but the tone was. This time he was being addressed directly and asked a question. He wasn't sure what the answer to the question was or how to answer it so he did the only thing he could think of, say Al's name again.

"Sounds like they still have you pretty loopy, Kid," Al said when he heard his name again. He patted Sam's shoulder again and sat back in the chair. "No problem. You'll be awake in no time."

Dr. Rivers arrived in the room as Al finished speaking. "It'll probably take most of the day for the effects of the sedative to completely fade and even then he'll tire easily."

Al turned at the sound of a new voice. "Dr. Rivers. I'm glad you're here. I was wondering what the next steps are for Sam."

"Right now we're going to wait for the effects of the sedative to wear off completely and we'll see how he's doing then. He's responding better than we could have hoped and if he continues; we'll probably be able to move him out of ICU in a day or two."

Al bit his lip. "Sounds like you're planning on keeping him in the hospital though."

Dr. Rivers picked up the chart hanging on the foot of Sam's bed and began to page through it. "I'm afraid he's going to be our guest for a little while longer." Satisfied with what he read, he put the chart down and turned to Al. "The aspiration was quite serious and he's not out of the woods yet. We need to make sure there are no other complications."

Nodding, Al said resigned, "Yeah. I know you have to do what needs to be done and I don't argue that." He paused to find the words to say what he was thinking. "It's just that Sam has spent so much time in hospitals over the past few years, I was hoping that..." He trailed off. "Not that I'd ever question your treatment."

"I know," Dr. Rivers said sympathetically. "Honestly, I don't like to keep any of my patients here any longer than necessary and as soon as I know Sam's well enough to go home, I'll be kicking him out of here. We just need to give him the time to get there."

As the two men spoke, Sam shifted restlessly in the bed. "You'll notice him moving around more and coming closer to consciousness. When he does wake up, he's bound to be a little confused. Just reassure him."

"Of course," Al said as if that should be a given.

Dr. Rivers went to the head of the bed and checked the read out on the machines still around Sam. He grasped his wrist checking his pulse then pulled back his eyelids checking his pupil reactions. Once through with his examination, he turned to Al. "I'll leave you to your visit now but remember, our deal still stands."

Al nodded. He pulled the book out of the drawer. "Ok, Sam, where were we?" Finding the page where he'd left off, he started to read more adventures of Porthos, Aramis, and Athos.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Al was just getting back from lunch when he noticed that Sam was really awake for the first time. The younger man's eyes were open and following his movements as he took his seat by the bed. "You finally awake, Kid," he asked as he grasped his hand and squeezed it gently.

Sam slowly nodded and returned the squeeze with a weak one of his own.

Al gave Sam another squeeze of the hand before releasing it. "Still feeling a little woozy?"

Sam stared at Al for a moment trying to order the jumble of thoughts in his head. He blinked a few times and said Al's name slowly. It seemed to be the only thing he was sure of right now.

Al titled his head. He didn't think there was supposed to be any potential issues that could affect Sam's cognitive abilities, but the way he was acting, he wasn't sure this was normal either. It caused a bit of worry to him. He wasn't sure how to proceed. "Yeah, I'm here, Kid. You need anything?"

Sam wished he could clear his head of whatever was making it so foggy. He hated the way drugs tended to have that effect on him. He had vague memories of Dr. Sanders telling him he'd have to have surgery again but this didn't feel like it did when he'd been given anesthesia. "Somethin' happened," he half-stated and half-questioned.

Al nodded. "Yeah," he said sadly. He felt the anger bubbling up for what had pushed the kid to making his decision that had lead to him being in the hospital again. He figured, though, keeping calm was more important at the moment. "You pushed yourself too hard, Sam. You started bleeding and had to have surgery again to fix it."

"Yeah," Sam agreed remembering what his friend was telling him. It was after that that things were either too fuzzy or just not there. "Somethin' happened," he repeated again. He was starting to tire out and didn't think he'd be awake much longer despite the fact that it was only a few minutes – he thought it was a few minutes – that he'd been awake. He wished Al would tell him what had happened before he lost the fight with sleep.

Sighing Al went on. "It was emergency surgery, Sam. There wasn't time to let your last meal pass and you aspirated some of the contents of your stomach. Doctor Rivers is taking care of you now." Al gave a small grin, "Another doctor to add to your collection. He's a pulmonary specialist.

What Al was telling Sam made sense on some level. If he hadn't been so fuzzy, he probably would have understood it completely. What he did understand sent a frisson of fear through him. "Gonna die?" he asked in a trembling voice.

Again, Al's anger at Weitzman was stoked. The son of a bitch had brought Sam close to death that was for sure. If Verbena hadn't been at the project and made the right decisions and if Sam didn't have the best of physicians, he wondered if he'd even be having this conversation with him. Again, he struggled to keep that out of his voice. "Ah...no, Kid. You're going to be all right. Doctor Rivers even says you're making better headway than he expected." He reached his hand over to him as he said the words, running his hand up his arm to provide the comfort of a touch in addition to the words.

He heard Al's words but they didn't bring the comfort to Sam they should have. There was something almost like anger in them. He shook his head slightly and tried to sit up. "Wanna go home."

Al put his hand gently on Sam's chest. "Already checked. Dr. Rivers says that it's going to be awhile but I promise, we'll get you out of here as soon as we can."

Sam tried momentarily to fight the hand holding him down then collapsed down to the bed. There was no way he could fight Al's strength. "Everything's fuzzy," he complained. "I'm scared."

"I know you are, Kid." He picked up the card from Sam's mother showing it to him. "Look, your mother sent you flowers." Seeing Sam's eyes searching for them, he explained, "But they can't put them here in the ICU. I do have the card though. It says 'Honey, I'm so sorry I can't be there with you. I hope you're on the mend soon. Love, Mom.' Your sister has the flu, otherwise she would have come but she has to take care of the baby since Jim's in Virginia." He continued gently as he handed the card to Sam to hold on to. "Now do you think if there was anything to be seriously scared about that your mother wouldn't have found some way to get here?"

"Katie's sick," Sam repeated. Hearing Al speak about something that seemed mundane helped to calm him. Maybe there wasn't anything to be scared of. He tried again to sit up with the same result of Al gently restraining him. "Wanna sit," he stated as forcefully as he could.

Al pulled his hand back with a small grin. Sam's stubbornness was pushing forward and in the case of healing, he was sure that was the right direction. "All right. Sitting up is ok. Getting out of the bed, though, is a no no."

Once Al pulled his hand back, Sam struggled but couldn't push himself up. "Can't," he gasped out sagging against the pillow. He looked over to Al, begging with his eyes. "Help me?"

"Of course, but let's let the bed do the work," Al responded unable to resist when Sam gave him that puppy dog look. "He helped the younger man up, fluffing the pillows in the process. "That feel better?" he asked as he took the card back and put it on the bedside table where Sam could see it.

"Uh huh." Feeling something itching his nose, Sam raised his hand to his face and found the tube providing oxygen. He started to pull the tube from his face.

Al again moved his hand to restrain Sam. "I think you need to let your doctor decide if you still need that, Kid. It's helping you breathe easier." Even with the assistance of the oxygen, Al could still hear the wheezing in Sam's lungs when he breathed.

"It itches," Sam protested although he didn't fight the restraint Al put on his hand. He looked slowly around the room then back to his friend. "Not a regular room."

"No. You're in the ICU but I think they'll likely be moving you soon." Al was feeling much better that Sam's fogginess had been the result of the drugs he'd been given rather than any effect of the situation on his mind. That was good. If Sam had been brain damaged due to the actions of the Senator, he wasn't sure that even Verbena's counsel that Sam needed him would have stopped him from seeking vengeance.

"I don't like ICU." When Al released his hand, Sam rubbed his nose trying to relieve the itch. When he did, he felt the stubble on his face and deduced that this hadn't been just an overnight visit to ICU. "How long?"

"I'm not actually thrilled with ICU's myself," Al admitted. "You've been here five days. Dr. Rivers says that with chemical pneumonia it usually takes awhile to heal. You're actually ahead of schedule having the tube removed so early."

"Not pneumonia," Sam corrected. "Pneumonitis." He could hear that his voice was weakening and could feel his body starting to tire.

Shrugging, Al agreed, "Yeah, well, I was close. In any case, Dr. Rivers says you're doing really well considering what could have happened."

Nodding slightly, Sam asked, "Can I have some water?"

"Sure, Kid." Al checked the pitcher that was given to all new patients. It was empty. "Give me a minute." He headed out of the area to the nurses station. Seeing one of the nurses that had the day shift, Marcie Allen, he smiled. "Sam's awake and he's thirsty. You know where I can get this filled up and maybe a straw for him as well?

Marcie directed Al to a small kitchenette area. "Why don't you fill that in there and I'm going to go check on him."

A few minutes later, Al was back with some cool water and a straw. He noticed Marcie finishing up with Sam. Going over to pour some of the water in a cup, he asked the nurse, "Everything where it should be?"

He's doing great," Marcie answered. "His temp's up a little but that's nothing to be concerned about." She finished jotting some notes on the chart and hung it back up. "I'll let Dr. Rivers know you're awake, Sam, and he'll probably be in to see you."

Sam nodded slightly but didn't show much interest in what Marcie had said. He was more interested in the water Al was carrying.

"You want to take this or you need some help?" Al asked. As tired as Sam seemed, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to hold the cup. Still, he knew that making assumptions and just helping weren't always fully appreciated either. Better just to ask.

"Um...don't know." Sam didn't have confidence that he'd be able to hold the cup of water himself but he didn't want to admit the weakness either. He hoped Al would just make a decision for him.

Al decided that the best thing to do would be to give Sam the opportunity to take the cup himself but provide support - that he'd only give Sam the help he needed. He moved the cup closer. "Here you go, Kid."

Sam put out his hand to take the cup and noticed how much it trembled. He hoped that Al would keep his own hold since he didn't feel like taking a bath. When he wrapped his fingers around it, he knew his hold was too weak and let his hand drop back to the bed. "You do it."

Al nodded. He'd noticed Sam's shaking hands. This way, Sam had chosen though. He moved the cup closer so Sam could drink what he wanted through the straw. He only pulled it away when Sam indicated he'd had enough.

"I feel so weak," Sam said after he'd drunk his fill. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly fond of. "And my throat still hurts."

"Yeah. Dr. Rivers says it's going to take a little longer for you to get over this one, Sam."

Sam was about to answer but was unable to when a deep, choking cough started. It felt like it went on forever and when it finally ended, tears were coming from his eyes from the effort. He lay back and weakly panted trying to get his breath back.

Al stood by helplessly as Sam's body continued to provide him pain. When Sam was finished coughing, he took a tissue from the nightstand and wiped away the tears. He didn't say anything though. If he had, he knew it would be to curse the Senator and Sam didn't need that right now.

Sorry," Sam whispered when he finally got his breath back. "I'm so tired. Can I go to sleep again?"

"Sure, Kid. You just get some rest now." Al used the controls to put the head of the bed back down.

"Ok." Sam got as comfortable as he could, closing his eyes to go back to sleep. "You gonna stay?" he questioned.

"I'll stay, Kid. You just close your eyes and sleep."

Sam didn't get a chance to sleep before hearing another voice in the room. "Is he sleeping again?" the new voice asked.

"He was just about to," Al explained, hoping the doctor wouldn't stay long and that Sam would get to sleep.

Through slitted eyes, Sam saw that the newcomer had on a lab coat and assumed he must be a doctor. He watched as the man approached him.

"I'll try to be quick," the man said to Al before turning to Sam. "Sam, I'm Dr. Rivers. Are you up to answering a few questions for me?"

Sam nodded his head slightly. "Good," Dr. Rivers said. "Can you tell me if you're having any trouble breathing?"

"My chest feels a little tight," Sam answered, "but that's all."

"It's probably going to feel that way for a little while," Rivers explained. "Your lung is healing nicely though. Have you had any coughing spells since you woke up?"

"He just had a doozy. I wasn't sure he was going to stop coughing," Al supplied

"Ok. If that happens again, I want you to call a nurse, especially if it affects his breathing." Rivers again turned his attention to Sam. "Now that you're awake, we're going to start doing pulmonary therapy to make sure that lung keeps healing. We want to avoid adding pneumonia to this as well. Is anything else bothering you?"

Sam shook his head slightly.

"You said your throat hurt too, Sam," Al reminded him.

"It's probably still hurting from the tonsillectomy and the breathing tube irritated it. Dr. Sanders will be in soon to check on that," Dr. Rivers explained. He took the stethoscope from around his neck. "I just want to give a listen to you lungs then I'll let you get some rest." He helped Sam to lean forward pressing the stethoscope to his back and asking him to take deep breaths and cough from time to time. "Ok, sounds pretty good," he told the two men once Sam was lying down again. "There's a little congestion but the PT will help with that."

"When will that be starting?" Al queried.

"Tomorrow morning," Dr. Rivers responded. "I want him to rest today and we'll get going on that first thing tomorrow."

"How long do I have to stay here?" Sam asked pulling the attention back to him.

"We're going to work to get you out of here as soon as possible," Dr. Rivers responded with a small smile, "but I think it's probably going to be at least another five days before you're ready for home."

"Will he be moved out of ICU soon?" Al asked figuring that if the kid couldn't go home, then a regular room might at least make him feel a bit better.

"We'll see how he's doing tomorrow or the next day," Dr. Rivers hedged

Al nodded. "What ever you think is best."

"If you're gonna talk about me like I'm not here, can I go to sleep?" Sam asked with some irritation.

Al turned, "Sorry about that, Kid.

"Sorry, Sam" Dr. Rivers said contritely. "Do you have any questions?"

"No," Sam replied. "I just want to go to sleep again. I'm really tired."

"You'll be feeling like that for a little while," Dr. Rivers responded. "You should get as much rest as you can. That's one of the best things for you."

"Yeah. Sleep's good," Al added unnecessarily.

"If there are no other questions, I'll let you get some sleep," Dr. Rivers said before leaving the room.

When the doctor left, Sam tried to roll over onto his side but the combination of blanket, IV, oxygen tube, and one other tube he'd rather not think about left him tangled up. Letting out a sigh, he lay on his back again.

"Can I help you, Sam?" Al questioned, wondering if he could help make the man more comfortable.

"Too many tubes," Sam griped. "I can't get comfortable. And what's on my legs?" Since he'd woken up, he'd felt something intermittently inflating around his lower legs.

"Doctor Rivers said that's to prevent blood clots since you weren't moving around," Al said explaining the inflation boots Sam had on. "I think you need to leave those in place for now, Kid, but maybe a few pillows to help you onto your side..."

"I don't know," Sam replied with a tired sigh. "If you think it'll work."

"Let me see what I can do." He headed to the nurses station. A few minutes later, he was back with one of the nurses and some extra pillows. Between the two of them, they rolled Sam onto his side with the pillows behind him making sure none of the tubes tangled. The nurse also removed the inflatable boots although she said he had to keep the elastic stockings on. "That better, Sam?" Al asked.

"Mmm...yeah. Back's sore." Now that he was on his side, Sam arched his back and scrunched his head into the pillow until he'd found a comfortable spot.

Thanking the nurse, Al sat back down. "Well, now, get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Sam nodded his head on the pillow. He didn't have to be told twice. Within moments, his eyes were closed and he was deeply asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Verbena wasn't entirely sure how Dr. Beckett would respond to her coming by to see him but she did want to see how he was, especially since he'd been moved to a regular room yesterday. She'd held off coming when he was in ICU, even the day and a half after he'd woken up.

Al had said he'd meet her there at 10:30 but it was already 11:00 and he hadn't arrived. She decided to just pop in, say hello, and leave.

She knocked at the door just as a woman was walking out, throwing back over her shoulder, "You did great today, Sam. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Dr. Beckett? May I come in?" Verbena asked once the woman had left.

"Dr. Beeks," Sam said nervously. "Uh...yeah, c'mon in." He remembered that she'd been with him and taken care of him coming to the hospital but he still wasn't sure how much he trusted the woman.

The tall, black woman smiled disarmingly. "I'm glad to see you're making such good progress. I just thought I should come by and say hi."

"Um…yeah. Dr. Rivers thinks I might be able to go home in another two or three days." He started wishing Al would come back and run interference for him. "Thank you for your help when...well...when everything was happening."

She nodded. "I'm just glad I was there. I just wish I'd known what that bastard had said to you in that letter."

"I beg your pardon? What letter are you talking about?"

Verbena looked shocked. She realized that Al must not have told him. "I um, well..."

"You what?" Sam asked suspiciously. There was only one letter he'd received recently and if Dr. Beeks knew of it that would confirm most, if not all, of his suspicions.

Al walked into the room then. "Sorry I'm late. I had to get the new tags for the car and..." He looked at the two people's faces and wondered what was going on.

"I think I must have put my foot in it, Al," Verbena started. "I would have thought you'd have mentioned the letter."

"Would either of you like to enlighten me as to what letter you're talking about?" Sam demanded. The friendly nature between Al and the doctor didn't pass his notice and he began to suspect something must have happened between the two of them.

Al rubbed his neck. "Um, yeah. About that. I didn't want to say anything until you were really on the mend, Kid, but...um...the day this happened, we went over to your house to get some of your things and we found the letter you'd thrown on the floor."

"What letter would that be exactly," Sam asked even though he knew. "And do I want to know what the **two** of you were doing in my house?" he asked stressing the word 'two'.

Verbena decided to keep her mouth shut. She'd already caused enough problems here. Instead, she watched the two men interact.

"You know what letter, Sam," Al began calmly but he wasn't able to keep his temper and his voice got louder. "The one from that nozzle, Weitzman. That son of a bitch had no right to say what he did to you." Realizing he'd asked why they'd been there, he restated, "and I told you, we went by the house to get some of your things. Dr. Rivers had said you'd be here for awhile and I figured it would be easier on you if you had some of your things."

"Oh, that letter," Sam said flatly. "I don't know what you're getting so worked up about." He tried to shrug off the impact of the letter. "He didn't say anything that wasn't true. We are falling behind and I wasn't going to let him hang that on me."

Verbena finally spoke up. "Yes, but he sent that to you when you had just had surgery. You weren't ready to come back and do the type of work that lead to the bleeding."

Sam was surprised to hear Verbena speaking against Senator Weitzman. Up until now, he'd been convinced she was here as his lackey. Still, she could be testing him. "Doesn't matter. The work needed to be done and now it's probably even further behind."

"Well, if it is, the Senator won't be able to use that to hurt you again," she said firmly. "In fact, if he tries it, I'll see that the entire committee understands that his antics caused the delays to be worse than they would have been."

Sam looked quickly between Verbena and Al. This wasn't what he expected from the woman at all. If it weren't for the fact that it had been several hours since he'd been given any of the painkillers for this throat, he would have attributed this to a drug-induced hallucination. "Al?" he finally questioned not sure what to make of what he was hearing.

"We didn't give Verbena a chance, Sam. She's not a mouthpiece for Weitzman," Al said simply.

Sam again looked between the two people by his bed and started to see Verbena in a different light. "You made her watch those videos," he blurted out looking at Al.

Verbena laughed. "Yes, he did. Of course, you know that means I'll be that much more effective in assuring safety is addressed as your backup physician at the project." She paused. "That is, assuming that you still want me as your back up physician."

"Um...yeah." Sam said contritely. "I'm sorry if I've been...difficult, Dr. Beeks. I guess I shouldn't have just assumed why you were here."

"Well, I can't blame you for it. From what I understand, this man is willing to stoop to any level to get his way. What else were you to think?"

"Ain't that the truth," Al said, nodding.

"Still," Sam said shaking his head, "I shouldn't have just assumed. I was taught to give everyone a fair chance." He looked over to Al. "Maybe it's a good thing Mom couldn't get here this time. I don't want to think about what she'd be saying to be me right about now."

Verbena smiled. "I'm sure she'd be saying that everyone is entitled to make an error and that it takes someone of stature to admit they were wrong."

Sam laughed softly. "You really don't know Mom. She'd be saying that only after she made sure I knew the error of my ways." His demeanor turned serious. "I hope you can forgive me, Dr. Beeks, and I do hope we can work together."

Verbena smiled. "Mark Twain once said, 'Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.' I like violets, don't you?"

"I...I guess I do, Dr. Beeks." Sam looked down for just a moment then back up. "How about if we start again." He extended his hand to her. "Hi, I'm Sam Beckett."

"Verbena Beeks," she said with a grin. "Nice to meet you Sam Beckett."

The two shook hands then Sam gestured to Al keeping up the pretense of first introductions. "This is Admiral Al Calavicci, my right hand man."

"Ah yes, the infamous Admiral Calavicci. Pleased to make your acquaintance," answered Verbena in equal form.

"Your reputation precedes you, Al," Sam chuckled.

"Indeed it has"

Al smiled. "All reports of my charms are...all true."

"Be careful, Dr. Beeks, or he might just try to show you those charms."

Verbena smiled. "I'd have to get to know him a lot better for that."

Sam, who'd picked up the cup of water from the table and was sipping on it choked, spitting out the water at Verbena's words. A few weak coughs followed the choke as he looked surprised at the woman.

Verbena was concerned by Sam's choking and quickly moved to him. "Are you all right?"

Al too had started to move but seeing Verbena, held back.

"I'm ok," Sam said waving off the woman's concern. "I just swallowed wrong, that's all."

"All right," she responded with a sound of concern still in her voice and backed away again. She was a bit more serious as she added, "In response to your other concern, I'm sure we'll be able to work together well. From what I was told, your project holds the promise of some fascinating and cutting edge research in human interactions. It's a real feather in my cap to have the opportunity to work with you and Al."

"I'm looking forward to working with you too, Dr. Beeks," Sam agreed. He exchanged odd looks with Al wondering just what she'd been told about the project. "It was nice of you to stop by and see me. I really appreciate it."

"Well, in a sense, you were my patient before we left the project. I wanted to make sure you were healing well."

"Yeah, I guess I was," Sam agreed. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "Um, I don't want to hold you up. I know it's a long drive back out to the project." He knew he probably sounded rude but he was getting anxious for the visit to end.

She read his body language and agreed. "Yes it is." After a slight pause she added, "I don't want to tire you Dr. Beckett. I'll see you again soon." Turning to Al, she queried, "I assume it will be a few days before we see you as well?"

Al moved his head from side to side slightly. "Most likely although I could be in as early as tomorrow. I'm going to stay with Sam as much as he can stand me."

Verbena gave Al a knowing look. "I wouldn't expect anything less." She grinned just a bit. "Well, I'm off. Bye for now." She gathered her handbag and turned to leave.

"Bye, Dr. Beeks." As soon as the door closed behind Verbena, Sam threw back the covers and slid from the bed. Pushing the IV along with him, he headed in the direction of the bathroom.

Al watched as Sam made a beeline for the head. "Sam? You ok?"

"Yeah. I just need the restroom, ok?" As he answered, Sam slid the door shut behind him. "I'll be right out," he said, his voice muffled by the door.

Al chuckled. He wondered how long Sam had been avoiding going to the restroom when Verbena was present. The fact that she was a doctor didn't trump the shyness that Sam felt around women. "Ok, Sam, take your time," he called after his friend.

A few minutes later Sam came back out of the bathroom. "I was just going to get up when she got here," he said by way of explanation.

"Why didn't you just go? I'm sure that as a physician, she understands bodily functions. Unless you question those credentials," Al ribbed Sam.

"Because," Sam explained as he made his way back to the bed, "it would have been rude. She did come by for a visit."

"Sam, it would have just been normal," Al reasoned.

"No, it would have been rude if I just got up and left her here," Sam insisted.

Al tilted his head. "You don't ever think it's rude when I visit you."

"No. Why would you think that?" Sam asked wrinkling his brow trying to figure out why Al would think that way. "You're not a visitor."

"What do you mean, I'm not a visitor. I come, I visit."

"But you're not a visitor," Sam insisted. "You're always here." Realizing how his words sounded, Sam held up a hand to stop Al from saying anything. "I don't mean it that way. It's just that when I need you, you're here so I guess I don't think of you as just a visitor. You're something more than that." He paused and tried again. "I wouldn't think of Mom, or Katie, or Jim as a visitor."

Al blinked a few times. "They're your family."

"I know," Sam said simply then sighed. "Do I have to explain it to you again?"

"No. I get that, Sam. I just figured they're still closer than we are, you know, being blood relatives and all."

"You're my family and that's the end of it. So I can go to the restroom when you're here but not Dr. Beeks 'cause that would be rude. It's as simple as that.

Not for the first time, Al thanked the heavens for having gotten to know Sam. "Thanks, Kid. You know how I feel as well." He shook his head, "I still think that wasn't necessary but...whatever. It's your discomfort."

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down thoughtfully. "Did you really mean what you said about staying around as much as I can stand you?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah. You know I meant that, Kid," Al responded wondering just what Sam was thinking about.

"Good," Sam declared looking up. "'Cause I want out of here and there's no way Rivers'll release me if I'm by myself. He's supposed to be coming in this afternoon to check on me. I'm going to tell him that I want to go home, today, and that you'll be with me if I need anything."

"You got it, Kid," Al agreed. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of Sam going home already but he had a feeling that he was going to push it with the doctor anyway.

"So, you'll support me when I tell him I want out?" Sam wanted to be sure that they were both on the same page instead of being surprised later when Al sided with the doctor. "He's probably not going to be happy."

Before he threw his support one hundred percent behind Sam, Al wanted to be sure there was no pressing reason for Sam to remain in the hospital. He knew how much his friend wanted to be home, and he'd be happy to see him home but not if it put Sam at any kind of risk. "Is there any reason why you should stay in the hospital? I mean from a doctor's point of view. Think with your M.D., Sam."

"Yeah," Sam answered quickly. "There's still a chance I could get pneumonia but the chance of ARDS is pretty low. But," he quickly pointed out, "I've got no fever. I'm not having any trouble breathing. I'm not even using oxygen anymore." He hoped that Al wouldn't notice that he'd discarded the oxygen tube and it was lying on the bed next to him.

Al chewed on his lip. "Would you agree to Verbena being on call too?"

Sam nodded. "Of course, but I'm not going to need her." Hoping it would be the final thing to convince Al, he added, "I'll even do whatever you say. I'll sleep when you tell me. I'll eat when you tell me. You can be the boss and I'll do what you say."

"Sam, it's not that I want to control your every waking minute, you know. I just want you to be healthy."

"I know that and I'm willing to do whatever I have to in order to get out of here. You know how I hate hospitals." A small chuckle escaped from Sam. "Kind of makes you wonder why I got my MD I hate them so much."

"Yeah. It is a puzzlement." Al sighed. "Ok, Kid. You've got the Calavicci guns behind you."

"Thanks. Now all we have to do is convince Rivers."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

With Al's help, Sam had been successful convincing Dr. Rivers to release him. There was a long list of symptoms they had to look out for and activities Sam was prohibited from even thinking about as well a small bag full of prescriptions but the man had, reluctantly, allowed Sam to go home.

It was late afternoon when Al pulled away from the hospital. "I'm not sure that Dr. Rivers is really happy with me at this point, Sam."

"I think he's downright infuriated with me." Sam noticed how carefully Al was driving. "You know, I'm not made out of glass. A turtle moves faster than this."

"You do know if something happens and you have to go back in, I'll probably have my visitation limited."

"Nothing's going to happen, Al," Sam assured. "I'm going to do everything you tell me like a good little boy and it's all going to be fine. You'll see."

"Famous last words," Al said under his breath.

"Have faith, my friend. Have faith." There was quiet in the car for a few moments before Sam spoke again. "I know I said I'd do whatever you want but I refuse to eat green Jell-O."

"Ok. I can live with that. Although I don't understand what you have against it. Lime Jell-O is good."

"Hospitals have green Jell-O, that's why."

"That's just showing your stubbornness."

"Fine, so if not eating green Jell-O means I'm stubborn then...I'm stubborn."

Al shook his head. "Hospitals have red Jell-O too. Is that off the menu?"

"No. I like red Jell-O." Sam looked over to Al. "You're going to be really difficult, aren't you?"

"Me? Difficult?" Al asked, innocently.

"What was I thinking?" Sam deadpanned. "How could I ever think you'd be difficult? Just do me a favor," he said, his voice turning serious. "Don't make me regret agreeing to let you be in charge."

"Of course not, Kid. I'll only push it when you're acting against your own best interest."

"Just like always." Sam looked at the speedometer then out the window again. "Now that we've got that cleared, could you please stop driving like a turtle. This is embarrassing. I thought you said this car had pick up."

"It does." Not being able to resist, Al pushed the pedal a little harder. Immediately the car raced forward. "See?"

After his brief demonstration of the car's speed, Al slowed down to what Sam had called his turtle speed. He wasn't going to do anything that would put the younger man at risk. It may have taken longer than normal but they were soon in the garage at Sam's house.

"Safe at home now, Kid," Al stated unnecessarily.

"At the risk of sounding like Dorothy," Sam said with a smile, "There's no place like home. I don't think I've been able to get much sleep since that sedative wore off. Did I tell you what they gave me last night when I couldn't sleep?"

"No. What did they give you?"

"Benadryl," Sam answered as he pulled off his seatbelt. "I'm not sure what they thought that was going to do. Even the Percoset I took yesterday didn't have the usual effect on me and they thought Benadryl was going to put me to sleep."

"Well, I guess they were concerned about the sedative you were coming off of. Those had to be pretty strong to keep you under like that."

"I guess," Sam conceded. "I still didn't get any sleep." He started to open the door to get out of the car but stopped when Al grabbed his arm pulling him back. "What? Can't I get out on my own?"

Al said with patience, "I just want to be out before you get out. Make sure there's nothing for you to trip over or something." When Sam gave him a look like he was going to challenge that, Al continued. "You know, it isn't just you that has to put up with the damned hospitals, I'm not exactly thrilled with them either. If being careful keeps you out for a long while, then I'm being careful."

Any complaint Sam was going to make about Al's over protectiveness died on his lips. It was true. For every trip he made to the hospital, Al was right there with him. At least for now he could let the man hover over him and do what he said. "Ok. I won't move until you tell me to...and I'm sorry you get stuck sitting in the hospital so much."

Al let out a breath. "When you're there, I know it's not intentional, kid. It's my choice to stay with you. No place I'd rather be under the circumstances so no need to apologize. However, I'm going to try and give us a hell of a vacation from Club Hospital for awhile."

"Well, I appreciate that you're always there and I'll take that vacation. Do you think we can get out of the car now? I'd like to see more of home than just the garage."

Al chuckled. "Sure Sam." He got out and walked around the car assuring that there wasn't anything that Sam could take a header over. "Come on, Kid. Let's get inside."

Sam followed Al into the house stopping just inside the door and leaning against the washing machine. "I really pushed it this time, I guess. I could have killed myself," he said coming to the realization.

Al turned noticing that Sam had stopped. He looked at his friends eyes and saw the tiredness in them even as he was trying to feign casualness. "Yeah. That thought passed my mind as well, Sam. We can't change the past but I'm not going to let anything happen now, that's for sure." He paused. "Why don't you go into the living room and pick out a movie or something."

"I don't feel much like a movie," Sam said straightening up.

"Well, I could suggest you go to bed instead," Al started, wondering if Sam's promise to be cooperative had just been words so he could get sprung from the hospital.

"If that's what you want me to do," Sam agreed. "After all, I did say anything you wanted me to do."

"Ok. I'll give you a choice. Either bed or something relaxing in the living room. Could be a movie, could be a book, could even be listening to music. Up to you," Al said, trying to be reasonable.

Sam didn't answer for a moment unsure what it was he wanted to do. "I want to sit outside," he finally said. "I'm tired of being cooped up."

Al shook his head. "Remember what Dr. Rivers said about breathing chilled air right now. Maybe after your next visit with the PT."

"Why did you ask me then?" Sam was unable to hide his exasperation. "And I don't have to go anywhere for the pulmonary therapy. I just need to use the spirometer here, remember."

"Yes, but remember, Dr. Rivers wants us to visit the PT Specialist every three days for the next week to make sure that everything is going well."

"No, I don't remember that. What do I need a therapist to tell me if I'm doing it right or not? If the ball makes the mark, I'm getting it done. If it doesn't, I need to keep working on it."

Al tilted his head seeing the confusion on Sam's face. "Oh. That might have been a part of the negotiations while you were in the head."

"Negotiations while I was in the head?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean."

"What it means," Al began to explain patiently, "Is that I had to make some concessions to Rivers so he'd let you out of there." Seeing that his answer didn't satisfy Sam, he waved toward the door. "C'mon, let's go to the living room and I'll explain. If you're gonna blow up and have a temper tantrum, at least let's do it where it's comfortable and not the laundry room."

"I'm not going to have a tantrum," Sam quickly denied although he did follow Al to the living room. He shed his coat and sat on the couch with it beside him. "Start explaining," he demanded once Al had taken off his coat.

"Ok," Al said sitting on the coffee table and facing Sam. "You know when you came out of the head Rivers was there?" He waited for Sam to nod in confirmation before going on. "Well, he hadn't just arrived. He came in the room just as you closed the bathroom door. I knew what you were going to ask him so I though maybe if I paved the way and smoothed things over, he'd be a little more agreeable."

"So that's why he wasn't so surprised," Sam said in sudden recognition.

"Yeah," Al agreed. "And it worked," he pointed out forcefully. "I...uh...I just had to make a few concessions for him to agree. He wasn't exactly happy with the idea."

"And one of those concessions was that I had to go in for pulmonary therapy. Ok," he sighed, "I'll do it only because I don't want to be responsible for you going back on your word. Next time, though, don't agree to anything for me."

"How about if we just skip a 'next time'," Al suggested. "Now, you still haven't told me what you're going to do or should I just send you off to bed?" Truthfully, that's exactly what he would have preferred to do. Sam looked positively exhausted to him and he hadn't missed the fact that walking from the laundry room to the living room had left him slightly winded.

"I'd still like to just sit outside for a while," Sam replied wistfully. "I'm just so tired of being stuck inside and just looking walls. I just want to sit and feel the sun on me or the wind blowing or something." Under his breath he added, "I want to get rid of the smell of the hospital."

"Ok, Sam," Al said with a sigh. "You can sit outside for a little while but you're going to bundle up and when I say it's time to come in, that's it. You don't argue with me."

"Ok," Sam answered nodding. "When you say it's time, it's time."

"Good." Al went to the coat closet in the foyer where he knew Sam kept all of his outdoor gear. He found a knit cap, scarf, and gloves and brought them to where Sam was waiting for him in the living room. "Here, put these on."

Obediently, Sam put on the articles that Al had handed to him but the older man wasn't satisfied with how he'd put the scarf around his neck. He rearranged it so that a portion could be drawn up to cover Sam's face. "You need to not breathe in more of that cold air than necessary." Once he was satisfied that Sam was as bundled up as he could get him, he stepped back from him.

"I feel like a little kid going out to play in the snow," Sam complained.

"I could make you stay inside," Al told him warningly. When Sam backed down he continued, "I'm gonna straighten up in your bedroom so why don't you sit outside the sliders there so I can keep an eye on you."

"You don't have to do that," Sam protested though it was a weak protest. He went into his bedroom and out the sliding doors. He sat in what Al had come to think of as his place and looked out at the desert.

Al stood just inside the door for a moment watching Sam then sighed, turned back into the room. The kid was doing his best to live up to his end of the bargain to get out of the hospital; he had to give him that.

The room didn't really need much straightening up. It was an excuse he'd used to be able to keep tabs on what Sam was doing outside. He decided, though, that the bed could use a change of sheets. Sam hadn't bothered to make it before he'd gone back to the project last week and Al hadn't made it up when he'd come to pick up Sam's things. He gave a wry smile that at least the damp towel that Sam had left on the bed hadn't been there the whole time. That he had hung up.

He stripped the sheets off the bed, balled them up, and took them to the laundry room leaving them in the basket there. He pulled a clean set of sheets out of the linen closet. Remembering how Sam had complained about green Jello being served in the hospital, he guessed that the younger man wanted to distance himself as far as possible with anything that could be associated with the institution. It was probably why he wanted to sit outside. With that in mind, he pulled out a set of sky blue sheets - the only set that had any color. He knew that these had come from Thelma in a box of small household items she'd sent to Sam as a house-warming gift when he first bought the house. As a rule, Sam tended to buy white sheets.

He also pulled an extra blanket out of the closet. He knew from experience that when Sam was feeling a little under the weather, he tended to feel chilled and seek out extra blankets. He wondered if it was really because he was feeling cold or if Sam was just seeking the extra security and weight of blankets.

He went back to Sam's room to make the bed. He checked out the door first and saw the younger man was still in the exact same place he'd been earlier. He was so still he almost looked like he was a statue.

Al quickly made the bed, pulling the sheets taut and making sharp, crisp corners. Once he'd spread Sam's blanket and the extra on top, he folded the covers down on one side. Fluffing up Sam's pillows, he added an extra to the pile since Sam had been finding it more comfortable to breathe if his head was elevated.

Going into the bathroom, he also changed out the towels, again taking the dirty ones back to the laundry room.

Satisfied that the bed was made to his specifications and the room was conducive to Sam's comfort, he went outside to fetch his charge. "C'mon, Kid. You've been out here long enough. I made your bed up for you and I think it's time you laid down for a while."

Without argument of any kind, Sam nodded and followed Al back into the room. He changed into the pajamas as he was directed to then let Al tuck him into bed. "I'm really not tired right now," he protested half-heartedly but a yawn spoiled the protest.

"Sure you're not, Kid," Al agreed seeing the yawn. "You told me you didn't get any sleep last night but you're not tired."

"Ok...maybe just a little," Sam conceded. He had to admit, now that he was in his own bed and comfortable, he could feel slumber creeping up on him at a fast pace. Rolling to his side, he curled up under the blankets. The extra one that Al had added only made it even more comfortable.

"You just sleep for a little while," Al advised as he leaned over to pull down the shade over the window behind the bed. "I'll wake you when dinner's ready." He stayed at the side of the bed for another moment watching Sam before he finally left the room. By the time he made it to the door, he could hear soft snores coming from his friend.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

A few hours later, Al came back into the room. The small amount of light that had framed the shade before was gone and the room was truly dark. Moving over to the sleeping man, Al shook him softly. "Sam? You want to keep sleeping or does dinner sound good to you?"

"I'm awake," Sam answered raising his head from the pillow.

Al was somewhat surprised by how awake Sam seemed to be. "How long have you been awake and just lying in the dark?" he questioned.

"I don't know," Sam answered as he sat up. "A while, I guess. I just didn't feel like getting up."

"But why lie in the dark? You have a bedside light?"

"I was comfortable," Sam replied simply. "I didn't feel like moving and it wasn't too dark. Besides, the blinds were still open on the sliders. I was just looking outside."

"Ok," said Al. He knew that at times the kid needed simply to be and this was obviously one of those times. "Well, dinner's ready. You want me to bring it to you or you want to come out and join me?"

"No, I can come out and get it," Sam said forcefully. Having his dinner brought to him while he was in bed made him feel too much an invalid. Remembering his agreement, though, he quickly tacked on, "if that's ok. I'll stay here if you want me to." He was under no illusion that if he didn't follow Al's orders that the man wouldn't bodily put him back in the car and take him back to the hospital. Right now, he didn't want to see how far he could push before that would happen.

Al gave him a small smile. "No. I just wanted to be sure you felt up to coming out." He knew Sam was doing his best to be compliant.

"Ok." Sam got out of bed and reached for the bathrobe at the foot of it. "So what did you make for dinner anyway?"

Al decided to tease Sam a little. "Oh, I decided to do something easy like tuna sandwiches. I also found a box of green Jell-O in the cabinet. Your mother must have bought it. Anyways...I figured getting rid of it was a good idea so that's what we're having for dessert."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut making a great effort not to show any resistance to Al's planned dinner. He hadn't been able to eat tuna since they'd been stuck in the cabin. The thought of it tended to make him queasy. The green Jell-O was too much a reminder of what his last meal in the hospital had been. Still, if that's what his friend had prepared, he'd have to find some way to choke it down. "Um, that...uh...that sounds great," he said with mock cheerfulness.

"Too bad, 'cause we're not having any of it," Al said with a gleam in his eyes. "Do you really think I'd put you through that, Kid? Actually, I fixed baked chicken with mashed potatoes and the only green stuff you'll need to deal with will be your broccoli. Dessert's chocolate pudding."

"So, you were just pulling my leg?" Sam was a little confused why Al was doing that. "Why?"

I just wanted to see how far you'd go with your going along with me." He sighed. "You know, I'm not really trying to make it difficult for you. I just want to make sure you're getting better as quickly as possible. I'm not trying to force to you to take my way or the highway."

"I don't want to go back to the hospital and I'm afraid that's what you'll do if I don't do what you tell me."

"That's only going to happen, Sam, if you aren't doing what you need to do to get better. You know, like not getting enough rest, putting yourself at risk for another problem, allowing your stubborn streak to trump your logic. That kind of thing."

"I just don't want to go back," Sam stated as they walked into the kitchen. He noticed that instead of dinner being on the island where they usually ate, Al had set the table instead. "We're eating at the table?"

"I thought it might feel less like a hospital. Table, tablecloth, napkins, chairs...the works."

"I guess it does." Sam took his place at the table. "Thanks," he said, his voice serious. "Sometimes I feel like I'm going to get stuck there and never come home."

"Don't say that." Al hated even the thought of that concept. It was much too close to what had happened with Trudy. "That's not going to happen while I'm around." He sat down and immediately was up again. He'd put water on the table but nothing else. "Would you like anything else to drink?"

"Water's fine," Sam responded. "And it could happen."

Al shook his head, going over to the refrigerator and pulling out a ginger ale. "Let's not talk about that now, Kid. Let's eat and have a nice dinner." As he talked, he got a glass with ice as well.

Sam waited until Al came back with his beverage before pressing. "I need to know something, Al. What would you have done it they'd told you there was no hope for me and that machine was the only thing keeping me alive? What would you have done?"

Al shook his head, "We can talk about scenarios like that some other time. Let's eat now."

"No," Sam insisted. "Now. I need to know."

Al's lips pursed together. "And I'm telling you, not now." When he realized Sam wasn't going to let it go, he added before the next salvo could be launched. "I've told you about Trudy before. What you're asking me brings up too many memories and quite frankly, I worked too hard on making this meal to let it go to waste. I promise you, I'll answer your question, just not now."

Sam's first instinct was to push Al for the answer to his question but he quickly quelled it. Experience told him if he didn't drop the subject now, Al would just clam up even more. "After dinner, then?" he asked. He meant to make the request casually but there was a small amount of pleading in it. "This all looks good," he continued gesturing to the food. "I'm not sure how much of the chicken I can eat, though."

Al nodded. "After dinner." To Sam's concern he laughed. "When I said to waste, I didn't mean we have to eat the entire chicken. I plan to use some of it later in the week to make chicken potpies. I just want us to enjoy this meal together. It's the first back in your house. That's an important thing to celebrate."

"Yeah, it sure is," Sam agreed. "I didn't think we had to eat the whole thing," he continued with a laugh of his own when Al misunderstood him. "I just meant that it's still tough to swallow so I'm really not sure how much of the chicken I'm up to. You'd think after all this time and all that's happened; my throat wouldn't bother me anymore." He quickly shook off any problems with eating his throat was causing. "I guess I can fill up on the mashed potatoes and broccoli if it's mushy enough."

"Well, the chicken's pretty moist. If you take small pieces, you'll be fine. If the broccoli's not mushy enough, I'll be happy to nuke it a bit more for you.

"I'll try," was Sam's only answer. He put a small amount of the chicken and broccoli in his plate and a good-sized portion of the mashed potatoes. Cutting off a very small piece of the chicken, he put it in his mouth chewing it thoroughly before swallowing. He tried not to wince when it went down. "It's really good."

Al saw the kid trying. "I guess I should have made something a little softer. I'll make sure it's easier for you tomorrow, Sam."

"No, this is fine," Sam was quick to reassure. "I need to get used to eating solid food again." He gamely tried to eat as much as much of his dinner as he could but, eventually, he just couldn't get past the pain of swallowing the chicken. Instead, he put more of the mashed potatoes in his plate and, as he'd said, filled up on them.

As much as the kid was willing to work with what he'd fixed, Al figured that he'd still take a softer approach through the week. He'd cook any vegetable 'southern style' and assure there were easy on the throat choices. He made a quip, "Well, looks like you ate enough of your meal to get dessert. Cold chocolate pudding should go down easy."

"You got whipped cream for it too?" Sam asked perking up at the mention of dessert. He was sure that Al would push him to eat more of the meat on his plate.

"Yeah. I whipped up some heavy cream for the top, just like you like it."

"You always take care of me," Sam said with a grin looking forward to the promised dessert.

"Well, I'm glad you finally see that," Al grinned. "The way you fight me on some things, you'd think you thought I was Simon Legree or something."

"Let's not start that," Sam asked. "I'm doing what you want. Can't we leave it at that?"

"Yeah. I know, Sam. You're doing a good job of it so far." He got up and collected the plates, putting them on the counter before pulling out two small bowls and another container already on a small tray. "Here you go. 'Chocolate Pudding Calavicci.'"

Sam accepted the dish of pudding handed to him adding a dollop of the whipped cream on top and dug in. "Now this," he said when he finally surfaced for air, "is really good. It sure beats green Jell-O or any colored Jell-O any day."

"I thought you might say that," Al agreed fixing up his own bowl as well. "It's got a bit of Amaretto in it too. Gives it a little almond flavor."

Sam stopped, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "I'm not supposed to have any alcohol," he stated. "I thought you knew that." He knew that the alcohol would have basically burned off during the cooking process but it still, he'd been prohibited anything with alcohol because of the myriad drugs he was currently taking.

Seeing Sam's face, Al knew an explanation would be best. "There's not much there, Kid and what is there is just flavoring. Wouldn't be any different if I'd used vanilla. Besides, I called Dr. River's office. They said the tablespoon I used wouldn't be a problem. So eat up."

"Ok." Mollified by Al's explanation, Sam finished the pudding in his bowl. "Is there any more?"

"Four more bowls in the fridge," Al answered. "The recipe makes six."

"So, can I have another one now?" Sam asked when it didn't seem like Al was going to do much more than answer his question, "or do I have to wait 'til tomorrow?"

"Go ahead, Sam. I think after all you've been through recently, you deserve a bit more of the sweet side of life."

Receiving permission, Sam quickly got up and got another bowl of pudding from the refrigerator. He added a dollop of whipped cream to it as well. This time, he at it at a slightly more sedate pace. "That really was good," he said as he scraped the bowl. "It almost makes the hospital food worth it."

Laughing softly at Sam's indulgence of his sweet tooth, Al asked, "Huh?" He certainly didn't expect that comparison.

"Well, if I had to eat all that slop, getting to eat this almost makes it worthwhile," Sam explained. He picked up the two bowls he'd emptied and took them over to the dishwasher and put them in it. He picked up the plates from dinner, scraped the remaining food into the garbage disposal and then put them in the dishwasher as well. "You want me to clean up?" he asked turning to where Al was still sitting. "Since you cooked, that's only fair."

"Well, most of it's already done. As long as you don't tire yourself too much, sure."

"It's just a few dishes and the leftovers. That's not going to tire me out."

"Then go for it, Kid."

As he started to clean up the remains of dinner, Sam paused long enough to put the teakettle on. By the time he was done, the water should be just about ready to make some tea. "When I'm done here we talk, right?"

Al nodded and then went to the living room. He turned on the TV but wasn't really watching. Instead, he spent the time thinking of how he would answer Sam.

When the kitchen was cleaned, Sam made his cup of tea, brought it into the living room, and sat on one of the couches. "Ok, you said you'd answer my question now. What would you have done?"

"Well, Sam," Al began. You've given me your medical proxy. I know that. First thing that would have to happen is that literally you'd have to be found incapable of making a decision yourself. If that hadn't happened, there's nothing I could do."

"I was in a medically induced coma, Al. I wasn't capable of making any decisions on my own. You're dancing around the subject. Just tell me."

"That's the point. It was a medically induced coma. They would have to try to pull you out of it to determine if you could indeed make your own decision. Sometimes, even then it can take a while before the doctors are ready to make that determination."

"Al, just answer my question. Tell me what you would have done."

Al blinked a few times. "I'm not sure I'd believe the doctors," he finally answered. "I'd have to get several other opinions to be willing to give up on you. You've beat the odds before, Kid, who's to say you wouldn't under these circumstances as well?"

"You're not going to answer me, are you?" Sam asked. Resignation tinged his voice. "You're just tap dancing around everything but you're not answering the question."

"No, Sam. I'm trying to answer you honestly. The answer to what I would have done is to get a second and possibly third opinion before I accepted that you had no chance and that's only after they said you wouldn't be able to make a decision."

"And then what, Al? Then what would you do? Would you leave me connected to that machine?" There was distaste in his voice when he asked the question.

"If I absolutely knew there was no hope. No. I'd ask them to turn it off. Course that's assuming they would do it. There are some courts that wouldn't accept it even from a proxy."

"That's all I wanted to know," Sam said softly once he'd finally gotten the answer he'd sought. "I just wanted to know that you wouldn't leave me like that."

"From our conversations, you wouldn't want to be left like that."

"No. I hate the thought of being in that sort of limbo. I don't want to live on a machine and, if it can be helped, I don't want to die in a hospital." Sam looked away from Al toying with the quilt folded on the back of the couch. "I'm not even sure why I'm thinking about this right now or asking you about it."

Al sighed. "You could have died, Sam. Dr. River's and Dr. Sanders were clear on that. It was a brush with death." He paused. "If you really don't want to be left in that condition, though, you might want to craft a living will. Then it is your decision and not your medical proxy's."

"I know that. I keep thinking I should do something about it then I just put it off." Sam took a deep breath and turned back to face Al. "I'll make an appointment with a lawyer. Anything that someone else has to take care like the house and stuff, will you take care of that for me if I can't?"

"Of course, Sam. You know I have your back, no matter what but wouldn't you rather your Mom or Katie take care of those?"

"No. Mom's too…Mom's too old. I don't want her to have those worries and Katie's got her own family to worry about. I'd rather you do it."

"Ok, if that's what you want, Kid."

"I guess that's out of the way then." Sam had one more question that needed to be answered. "You'll make sure my Mom gets taken care of, right? If anything ever happens, you'll make it as easy for her as you can."

Al smiled. "Yeah. If that ever happens, I'll take care of her." He looked at him intently. "That's not going to happen though, kid. If there's anything I can do to keep that from happening, I will do it."

Sam was going to say something else but before he could, he started coughing. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as it had been when he'd been in the hospital but it still left him winded and rubbing his chest when it finally ended.

Al had moved to Sam when he started coughing. Figuring he needed water, he went into the kitchen and brought some out. He stood by his friend, helpless until the coughing stopped. Holding the glass out, he said simply, "Here."

Sam took the glass and sipped at it before handing it back. He leaned back against the couch still trying to get his breathing to even out.

Al watched how Sam moved. His body language told him Sam was more annoyed by the coughing than anything else. There certainly hadn't been any fear present. He waited until Sam seemed ready to speak again. "You going to be ok?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed nodding. "I won't miss that when it stops." He looked around the room then asked, "Where'd the spirometer end up? I haven't used it since we got home."

Al walked over to the entertainment center opening the door on the bottom of it and pulled the spirometer out. "I figured that it should be put away when not in use. Just one more thing not to remind you of the hospital."

"I guess this is ok to leave out," Sam said accepting it. "If I don't use it, it's going to mean a return trip there."

"Oh, you'll use it," Al stated. "I just need to know what schedule you'll be on with it."

"Once an hour when I'm awake. Just like when I had to use it last year." Having answered Al's question, Sam put the tube in his mouth inhaling trying to make the ball inside reach the preset height. He was able to raise it the first two times but the next three missed the mark with each successive try further away. "I really do hate this thing," he said as he handed it back to Al.

"How many times do you need to get it to that mark?" Al asked.

"I'm supposed to do it five times."

Al blew out a breath. "Ok, then. Five it is." He'd make sure that Sam did his work at least once an hour.

"So, what are we going to do now?" Sam asked after Al had put the spirometer away. "Please don't tell me I have to go back to bed."

"I was thinking a board game or something," Al suggested.

"Board game, huh? Which one did you have in mind...and don't suggest Scrabble. That didn't go well last time."

"Only because you were being a pain about it."

"No I wasn't," Sam shot back on the defensive. "You shouldn't have used that word."

Al rolled his eyes. "You want me to show you WHERE it is in the dictionary?"

"I don't care about the dictionary. I told you, Dad told us we weren't to use that word in polite company."

"That being true, the rules of the game say as long as it's not a slang or foreign word, it's fair game."

"And that's all you cared about," Sam threw at Al. "You really didn't care how it made me feel and you still don't, do you? Am I supposed to disregard everything my father taught me?"

Al's eyes grew wide. "How do you get from the using a word to that? I'm sure your father taught you a lot of really good things, Sam. I'd never say he didn't. But..." He paused. "What's the use? How about Monopoly?"

"He's my father," Sam stated disregarding Al's suggestion of an alternate game. "I did damn little to help him when he was alive; I'm not going to disrespect him or his memory now."

"From what your mother tells me, you did quite a bit on the farm."

"Not enough," Sam insisted. "I should have done more so he didn't lose it. I should have been there when he died. Maybe if I had been, he wouldn't have. You weren't there. You don't know." His voice lost its forcefulness begging Al to understand him. "When he lost the farm, it killed him. Maybe not right away but it did."

Al patted Sam on the arm. "There's nothing that can be done to change the past, Kid. I'm sure that you did the best you could at the time."

"I hid at school, Al. Tell me how that's doing the best I could."

"You weren't hiding, Sam. You were pursuing your education."

"I'm not going to get into this with you. I was there, you weren't." Sam shrugged off Al's hand and got up from the couch. He started pacing in front of the couch. "That farm had been in our family for generations. It was his life and when he lost it..." His voice trailed off as he whirled to face Al. "The farm would have gone to Tom but when he...when he was killed, that meant I'd inherit it but I didn't care about it enough to stay put and help my father. I took it for granted that it...that he would be there but I was wrong and now they're both gone."

"You wanted to be a farmer? Stay on the dairy farm?"

"It doesn't matter what I wanted. It matters what I should have done. Do you think my father wanted to be up every morning before the sun rose? He did it because he had a responsibility." Sam continued with self-derision in his voice, "I had one too but I didn't live up to it."

Al got up from the couch and intercepted Sam putting his hands on his shoulders. "Sam. You are one of the most responsible people I've ever known. I think your father taught you well." He sighed. "Nothing I say to you right now is going to change your mind about this and getting into an argument about it isn't going to help you get better so what do you say we just put this topic to the side for now."

"I just wanted him to be proud of me, that's all."

"I know, kid. I know." He gave Sam a grin. "I can't imagine that he wasn't proud of you."

Sam went back to the couch and sat down. Al sat next to him. "Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting him. I can't remember what his voice sounded like anymore"

Al nodded his head. "That happens with the ones we love. We think they'll always be there for us. Then one day they're gone." He gazed at a spot in front of him. "We may forget with our senses, but we never forget with our hearts and souls."

"You know what's funny," Sam said in a tone of voice that didn't indicate humor. "Sometimes I think I can remember what his voice sounded like but then I realize it's your voice I'm hearing."

Al's eyes traveled to Sam at that revelation. "Ah, Kid. It's just 'cause I've been around so much for the past few years."

"Sometimes...sometimes I feel like..." Sam cut himself off before he finished his thought and sighed. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm being so morbid tonight."

Al felt for Sam. It was obvious that the recent events had undermined his natural optimism. "I told you, Kid. You had a brush with death. Tends to make you think in a different way for a bit. The trick is to pull yourself out of it. Now...how about a game of Monopoly? I'll bet I become a tycoon before you do."

"Nah, not Monopoly. Hang on. I've got a better idea." Sam got up and went to the kitchen, rummaging around in the junk drawer. When he came back to the living room, he had a box of playing cards in his hand. "Remember these?" he asked holding them so Al could see them. The back of the cards had scenic views of Washington, DC. "It's the cards you bought when I was in the hospital last year. I still owe you a rematch from then."

"Cards, huh. What are you thinking? Gin rummy?"

"No, poker," Sam answered as the phone rang. "Hello," he said answering it.

"Hello. Is there an Al Calavicci there? I was left this number to contact him," said the male voice on the other side of the phone.

"Whom may I ask is calling?" Sam waited for the answer before asking him to hold on while he got Al. "It's Frank," he said holding the phone out to his friend.

"Great," Al answered. "He said he'd be calling soon." Al took the phone. "Hey, Frank. So, what's the news?"

The conversation continued for a few minutes, Al becoming more excited as he listened. Finally, he answered. "You bet! I'd love to be a test driver." He listened a little more and his forehead creased. "No, they couldn't use my affiliation with NASA or the Navy in advertising. At least not with my name attached to it." A few more minutes and he was smiling again. "Sure. Reports I can do. For a program like this, you bet! Thanks, Frank. I owe you, Buddy. Big time."

A few more moments and the call ended with "Sure. I'll be there. Bye." Al turned to Sam. "You may not want to play me tonight, Kid."

"Oh yeah, why?" Sam asked. While Al had been on the phone, he'd gone back to the kitchen to get a bag of M&M's from the cupboard. He poured them in a bowl between the two of them. "Stop it," he said when Al took some to eat. "I don't have any poker ships so we're going to use the M&M's"

"Oh. I thought these were snacks," Al answered chastised. He then answered his question. "Because I'm on a lucky streak. You won't believe what Frank just told me."

When Al didn't go on to tell him what Frank had said, Sam made a continue gesture with his hand. "What did he tell you?"

"I'm going to be a sort of 'test pilot' for new concept models. They're impressed with my background as a Navy test pilot and former astronaut. They want to know what I think of the cars." He strutted somewhat. "I'll be getting a new car to drive whenever they have a new model to test. Frank says that happens pretty regularly."

"Sounds right up your alley. So when do you try out the first one?"

"Frank says I need to come up and sign some paperwork and then I'll have to wait until they're ready. They don't send them out for testing until they're sure they're ready. Frank says should be within the year. Since I have the corvette now, I'm not in too big a hurry. Pretty sweet deal, though, huh?"

"Sounds great." Sam started to shuffle the cards. "I still think I'll win," he said with a smile.

Al narrowed his eyes. "You mark the cards?"

"Yeah, Al. While I was getting them from the kitchen I took the time to mark them all," Sam said sarcastically. "C'mon, when would I have had the time to do that?" He smirked at his friend. "I just know my superior poker abilities will triumph."

"Fine. It's your wallet."

"Wallet? Who said anything about that?" Sam shook the bowl of M&M's. "It's candy, remember?"

"Yeah, but if you're that confident, we should play for dough. Make it interesting. Greens are 10, Reds are 5, Yellows are 1, and the other colors are 0.50."

"We're playing for fun. Why does it have to be about money? Besides," Sam said coughing slightly, "I'm sick, remember. You wouldn't want to take advantage of me, would you?" He asked the question in wide-eyed innocence.

"Oh come on, Sam. You say you're going to win, right? So I wouldn't be taking advantage of you. Besides, that's a low dollar pot. Hell, in Vegas, I've been known to drop 1000 on a game."

"A thous..." Sam started to ask aghast. "You have a gold mine or something you never told me about?"

"Nah. I usually win it back. It's not really a big deal."

"Not a big deal? A thousand dollars is a huge deal where I come from."

"Yeah, but Sam, you don't gamble much either. If you play in Vegas regularly, sometimes you get into the bigger games."

"I don't like Vegas, remember, and I'm not going to start gambling that much. I can think of better things to do with that kind of money."

"Fine...but how about tonight? Ready to play for a little more than chocolate pieces?"

Sam tried the wide-eyed innocent look again. "I thought we could just play for fun."

Al rolled his eyes. "Playing for money IS playing for fun."

"Ok," Sam agreed reluctantly. "If you want to play for money, I guess we can. Just not as much as you said. It might not bother you to gamble that much but it bothers me."

"I wasn't planning on taking you for 1000, Kid."

"Yeah, right," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "Just my house, probably. So how do we do this? Do we just do it on the honor system or do I need to show my money up front?"

"Oh I trust you, Kid." Al had a gleam in his eyes. "I know where you live." The doorbell rang. "You want me to get that?"

"Yeah, sure." Unconsciously, Sam's hand moved to the bowl of M&M's and he put a few in his mouth.

Al laughed as he got up and tossed over his shoulder. "You just ate about 7 there, Kid." When he got to the door, he checked the window. "Hey! It's Tina!"

Chagrined, Sam pulled his hand from the bowl. "Wonder what she's doing out this way?"

Al opened the door. The brainy computer hardware tech with the ambiance of Betty Boop walked in with a potted plant. "Hiya, Dr. Beckett. I thought I'd stop by. Hope you don't mind."

"No, I'm glad to see you, Tina," Sam said waving her in.

She walked into the living room. "I just hate coming to hospitals, you know?" She cracked her gum. "Al said you came home today so I thought you might like this. It's a fiddle leaf ivy." She looked down at the cards that had been dealt. "Oh. Are you guys playing poker?"

Al nodded. "Yeah. Sam thinks he's going to clean my clock."

"I'm not too fond of hospitals myself," Sam agreed. He eyed the plant Tina was carrying. "Thanks for plant." He got up to take it from her to bring to the kitchen. When he reached the kitchen, he called out, "Hey, Al, can you come here for a second?"

Al excused himself and headed to the kitchen. "Yeah, Sam?"

"I didn't want to hurt Tina's feelings but do you know if Dr. Rivers said anything about plants. I know I couldn't have the flowers from Mom in my room."

"Why would plants be a problem? They just couldn't have them in the ICU."

"Oh, ok," Sam said. "I just wasn't sure."

"Hey, Sam. I just got a great idea. Why don't we ask Tina to play too? Poker's a lot more fun when you play with three."

"Yeah, I guess that sounds like a good idea." Sam agreed.

"Ok." The two men went back into the room. Al smiled. "Hey, Tina. You want to play. Low stakes. 10 the highest 'chip' or in Sam's house, M&M."

Tina smiled "Sure. I love poker!"

Sam sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table. "Ok, Al, why don't you deal

?" Hed picked up the cards that had been dealt before for two and reshuffled.

The game commenced and for the next few hours, the three having a great time playing. Every hour they stopped for enough time for Sam to do his breathing exercises. As the night wore on, Al noticed that Sam started to drag as his recent illness caught up with him and soon called a halt to the game. While Tina was the overall winner, going home with slightly less than 100, Sam held his own and only lost a small amount. Al's luck wasn't quite as good as he'd thought, but he was happy to part with his money. Two of the people he cared about were happy and that's all that he truly cared about.

"That was fun," Sam said holding back a yawn.

"Yeah!" Tina exclaimed. She noticed Sam's yawn. "You look like you need to get in your jammies and to bed." She got up. "I do too. I need to be back at the project at 6 a.m. tomorrow."

"Thanks for coming over," Sam said trying to hold back another yawn.

"Oh...it was a pleasure, Dr. Beckett." She held up the money, shaking the bills slightly so they fanned out. "There's a pair of shoes that these babies will buy."

"Why do you need to back at 6:00? That's awful early."

"Well...everyone is chipping in extra time. We want to get things completed as much as possible while you're out. Your and Al's blueprints are great to follow. They actually make sense."

Sam was speechless when he heard that everyone was putting in extra time to keep his project on schedule. "I don't know what to say," he finally forced out. "Thank you doesn't seem like enough."

"Hey, don't mention it Dr. Beckett. We're all just thrilled to be working on the project. Both of you are the best to work for. Anyways, have a good night. I'm glad you're on the mend." She put her hand on his arm with a slight squeeze. As she moved away, she turned to the older man. "Walk me out to the car, Al?"

Al agreed and went out with her, seeing her to the car and giving her a kiss before she left. He headed back inside. "Well, you heard the lady. Jammies for you."

Sam was still sitting on the floor when Al came back in. "I'm still in my jammies or did you forget?" He paused for a moment thinking about what Tina had told him. "I can't believe they're all doing that."

"I meant if you want to change again. You've been wearing those all day." He let that go and referred to Sam's other statement. "Why wouldn't you, Kid? We've got a great group of people on the project. All of then A #1."

"I know that. It's just that they're all giving up their time." Sam shook his head slightly. "I better stop before I get maudlin again." He held his hand out to Al. "Give me a hand up. I think my legs have gone to sleep."

Al helped his buddy up. "Well, let's get the rest of you to sleep as well," he said with a smile. He knew that Sam was truly touched by what Tina had told him. To be honest, he was too. He'd never known a man that could generate such loyalty as Sam Beckett, boy wonder from Indiana.

"That sounds like a really good idea." Sam didn't bother to try to hide his yawn this time. "I'm beat. I can't believe how tired I am from doing nothing." The two men walked into Sam's bedroom and he sat down on the bed. He accepted the pills that Al took out of the bottles on the bedside table and swallowed them with water. "That was a lot of fun tonight. Thanks for getting me home today, Al."

"No problem Kid. You're sure to get better rest here." He thought of something. "Hang on." He went back into the living room. He retrieved the breathing apparatus. There needed to be one last before the kid hit the sack. "Here you go, Sam," he said handing him the spirometer when he returned to the room.

Sam took the plastic device doing his best with the breathing exercises. This time he wasn't able to get the ball to the preset mark any of the five times. "Maybe I'm too tired," he said as he handed the spirometer back to his friend.

"Probably. You did better earlier."

"I'm kinda not feeling too good right now," Sam admitted. "Not bad enough to go back to the hospital," he quickly tacked on. "I bet I'll feel fine in the morning."

"Don't worry, Kid. I know you're beat. It'll take more than that for me to take you back. Just get to sleep now."

Nodding, Sam stretched out on the bed and let Al pull the blankets up and tuck them around him. "Al, do you think he'd be proud of me?" he asked echoing his question from earlier.

Al heard the raw pain in the kid's voice. He knew that Sam would have to deal with this issue and perhaps the brush with death had brought it to the fore again. He smiled at his friend. "I know he would, Kid. I know he would." He reached down brushing the hair back from Sam's forehead. "Now, you close your eyes and get to sleep."

Too tired to question why his friend was so confident, Sam took his words at face value, nodding. "G'night, Al," he murmured as he let his eyes drift shut.

Al walked away from Sam towards the door. He stopped in the opening looking back at his friend, curled up in a position that he knew was comfortable to him. His voice was barely a whisper as he said, "I can't imagine anyone that wouldn't be proud of you, Kid. You're a one of a kind, A #1 mensch."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

After Sam had gone to bed, Al quickly cleaned up the living room from their impromptu poker game. It was good to see the kid relaxed and enjoying himself after the last couple of weeks.

Once the living room was straightened up, he went back to the linen closet and pulled out sheets and blankets making up a bed on the couch for himself. As good as Sam seemed to be doing, He felt it best to be as close by as possible.

A couple of hours after he'd turned off the light and turned in, he was grateful that he had chosen to sleep on the couch when he heard noises coming out of Sam's room. He quickly pulled on his robe and slippers and headed to the kid's room. When he opened the door a little wider, he found Sam wrapped in his blanket's and thrashing about.

"Dad," Sam called out. "Please don't go. Don't leave me."

Al gave a sigh. He knew that this was one of the recurring nightmares that Sam had from time to time. He went over to the bed and reached down, softly grabbing Sam by his shoulder. "Wake up, Kid. It's just a dream."

Sam pushed away from the hand he could feel on his shoulder. Again, he called out for his father.

Trying again, Al shook a little harder. "Come on, Sam. Wake up."

This time Sam came awake suddenly. "Dad?" he called out one more time before he saw who it was that was standing over him. "Al?"

"Yeah, Kid. It's me," Al said, still concerned about his friend. "You were having a bad dream."

"My Dad," Sam offered needlessly. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"I know, Sam. You called out for him. Don't worry about waking me. You know it's ok."

"No, it's not ok." Sam rubbed his hands over his face then let them drop limply to his lap. "I hate when this happens."

"I feel for you, Buddy. Nightmares can be the pits," Al commiserated.

"We were walking through one of the fields," Sam explained. His voice was a monotone as he tried to distance himself from the dream. "He was right next to me then he kept getting further and further away. The more I tried to get to him, the further he got."

Al nodded. It was a variation on a theme. Always, though, his father would eventually leave and Sam would be left feeling he'd done something wrong that caused his father to leave him. "It's just your feelings coming out of your subconscious. That's what they used to tell me when I'd have dreams that weren't so nice. They're you trying to figure things out. They're not your father's actions."

Sam brought his knees up hugging them to his chest. "I wonder, sometimes," he said softly. "Did he know I wasn't there? Did he know what was happening? Did he feel pain?" He looked to Al needing answers. "Why wasn't I there, Al? He was there anytime I needed him. Why wasn't I there for him?"

"You know why, Kid. The bus didn't cooperate." Al had heard the story before. Sam had tried everything to get home as soon as he heard. A bus was the only way for him to get home and it had broken down in the middle of some podunk midwestern town. "Things just sometimes don't work out the way we plan." He gave a rueful grin. He could testify to that.

"I don't mean that." Sam found a lose thread on the blanket and started to pull at it. "I know why I didn't get home for the funeral. Why wasn't I there when it happened?" When he looked up from the thread he was toying with, there was raw pain in his eyes. "I never got to say goodbye to him. I didn't get to tell him I loved him."

Al would have done anything to take away the sorrow he saw in his friend's eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn't in his power. The best he could do was tell him, "I'm sure he knew, Sam. I'm sure your father knew you loved him. That's the way papa's are. They know..." He touched his chest, "...here."

The conversation brought back memories Al had of his own father. Unlike Sam, he'd been at his father's side, holding his hand, praying to the God he would learn turned his back on such meager words. The feeling as the life drained from his father was seared in his memory. "You did everything you could, Kid."

"But I don't know," Sam insisted. "I don't know and it's too late because I never told him when I had the chance." He shrugged and went back to pulling on the thread. "Maybe that's why I'm forgetting him. Maybe that's my punishment for taking him for granted."

Al shook his head energetically. "No, Sam. I don't believe for one moment that you took your father for granted. You just thought you had more time."

"It's the same thing," Sam said shaking his head. "I never thought about today, only tomorrow. I was too busy keeping my head stuck in books to pay attention to what was going on around me until it was too late. I just wish I'd been able to see him one more time and had the chance to say goodbye to him."

Al sighed, knowing that nothing he said would convince the kid. "Nothing can be done now, Sam. Time is a harsh mistress. For now, though, you need to get some rest so you can get over this and back to normal. Ok?"

"Yeah, get over this so I can be fresh for whatever comes along next." Seeing that his sarcasm didn't have a very good effect on Al, Sam sighed and asked, "Where's the spirometer? If I'm up, I can at least do that."

Al agreed and went over to the bookshelf where he'd left the medical device. He brought it over to Sam. "Let's see how you do."

"Three out of five," Sam replied after he'd done the breathing exercises. "It's getting better – I guess." He handed the device back to Al and lay back down. "I guess I should try to sleep again."

Yeah." Al put the device back on the shelf and then came back to straighten Sam's covers. As he did, he brushed his hand over Sam's forehead checking to see if he was warm. "You get some shuteye," Al advised satisfied that he didn't feel any fever.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch, you know." Sam wasn't quite as forceful as he normally was when giving Al the same advice. Although he'd fought to be released from the hospital, now that night had fallen and he was in bed he was rethinking his decision slightly. In the hospital if he'd had any problem, there'd been a call bell he could push that would bring help. Here, at home, he didn't have that luxury. He knew Al would do his best for him but the man wasn't a trained medical professional. Still, he didn't want his friend uncomfortable when it was likely nothing would happen.

"I know that. You know that," Al said with a grin. "But we both know I'm sleeping on the couch tonight." He smoothed the covers. "Really, get some sleep.

"I'll try," Sam agreed. "I just feel like I can't turn my mind off right now even though I know I should."

Al looked at him, thinking. "Would it help if I read something?"

Sam smiled slightly at Al's offer. When they'd been stuck in the cabin over Christmas, he'd told him how hearing him read relaxed him and made him feel safe. "It's ok. You don't have to do that. It must be late...or early."

"Well, I'm up now anyways and if it helps, I'm game."

Sam was torn and really didn't know how to answer Al. "If you want to, I guess that's fine," he finally settled on saying. If it was Al's choice to do it, somehow it made it easier to accept. "Maybe I shouldn't have taken such a long nap earlier."

"You needed the sleep Kid." Al suspected that Sam was just as tired as he'd been before. He'd just had the dream upset him enough that it was tough to get back to sleep. "I'll be right back." He went out and retrieved _The Three Musketeers_ again. Coming back into the room, he grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside Sam. There was about a fourth of the book still left to read from where he'd left off in the hospital when Sam was out. Clearing his voice, he started reading aloud.

As Al started to read, Sam rolled over so that he was facing him. He was convinced that this time Al's reading wouldn't have any effect on him but his friend had turned the page no more than four times when he felt sleep creeping up on him again.

Al continued reading. Soon, he heard the soft sounds of a light snore and looked up to find Sam fast asleep. He got up and put the book on the bedside table before assuring the covers were over his friend fully. "Ok. Round two. This time I hope you sleep through the night," he said mostly to himself. He turned off the light and went back to the sofa to and back into his own dreamland.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

It was late – late by his standards - the next morning when Sam woke up. After having his sleep disturbed by the dream last night, he hadn't thought he'd be able to get back to sleep but Al's reading had taken care of that. Once he fell back to sleep, it had been a deep, dreamless sleep for which he was thankful.

Sunlight was leaking around the shade over the window behind the bed and through the vertical slats of the blinds over the sliding doors. Stretching, he decided it wouldn't be a crime if he stayed in bed a little while longer. After all, he had just been released from the hospital and was supposed to be getting rest.

He listened carefully trying to judge if Al was awake or not. He didn't hear any movement or any kind of sounds but that didn't mean his friend was still asleep.

He still wasn't sure why he'd been thinking of his father so much last night. This wasn't the first time he'd had a brush with death and he couldn't figure out what was so different this time. While he was trying to puzzle it out, he started to doze off again. He was brought awake once more when he felt a hand shaking his shoulder and a voice calling him.

"Hey, Kid. You going to join the living?"

"Mmmm….yeah…I'm awake." Sam scrubbed his hands over his face and stretched again before sitting up. "You been up long?"

"Long enough to get two loads of laundry done."

"Two loads of laundry?" Sam turned to the clock on the bedside table so he could see it and was shocked to see that it was nearly 10:00. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

Al's eyebrows rose. "Does the concept that you need rest ring a bell?"

"I know that but don't you think this is just a little much?" Sam pushed back the covers and started to get out of bed. "Half the day's gone already."

"And what are you planning on doing today that needs so much time?"

Sam started toward the bathroom but stopped when he heard Al's question. "Well, I...um...I thought I might see if I could get some work done." Seeing the look on Al's face, his voice wasn't quite as confident as he continued. "You know, on the computer...in my office...here."

"You just can take it easy, can you?" Al said.

"Yes, I can take it easy," Sam sighed. "What do you suggest I do? Lie on the couch all day and watch TV or maybe you just want to tuck me back into bed." Al was always fond of telling him how stubborn he was. Right now, he was feeling that way and he didn't much care what he'd agreed to in order to get out of the hospital. There was no way he could just lie around all day or he'd start to go crazy.

"All I'm saying is why do you have to get back into..." Al trailed off. Looking at Sam right now, he knew the answer to his question." With a sigh, he acquiesced. "Ok, ok. But only on the computer and only for an hour at a time. Hour on, hour off. And if you seem to be getting too tired, not even that much."

"Deal," Sam said eagerly. He decided to push his luck just a little more. "And can I get dressed in normal clothes, too? I'm tired of wearing pajamas

Al had to laugh at that one. "Sure, Kid. You know how I feel. Clothes help make the man."

"Good." Sam gestured toward the bathroom. "Now that that's settled, you think I can get into the bathroom? I'll be out as soon as I get dressed."

"Ok." Al stated, heading towards the kitchen. "See you in a minute."

Sam joined Al in the kitchen about 20 minutes later. He'd taken a quick shower and that, coupled with having on "real" clothes had him feeling a lot better. "Don't laugh," he warned when he saw Al's face as he walked into the kitchen.

Al laughed anyways. "Sorry, Kid, but you can't wear those things as a grown man and not expect a chuckle."

"What's wrong with them?" Sam asked looking down at his feet. He'd dressed in a dark gray, ribbed turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans. He'd completed his outfit with a pair of racecar slippers since his feet were cold and he didn't want to wear shoes. "They're warm and comfortable," he said defending his choice. "Ok, ok," he added when he saw the mirth still on Al's face. "Katie sent them as a joke for Christmas but they're the only pair I own."

"Then it's good you're getting use out of them. Just promise not to bring them on any business trips. I'd hate to have you leave those in the middle of the room and have someone see them."

"I don't know about you," Sam began to explain slowly, "but when I go on a business trip I normally don't have meetings in my hotel room so what would it matter?" He pulled out one of the stools from the island and sat down.

"Well...you know. Sometimes there are times people come into a room and not necessarily for a meeting."

Sam wrinkled his brow in confusion. He accepted the mug of tea Al handed him, nodding his thanks. "Who else is going to be in the room? I don't think housekeeping would really care what I was wearing...and why is it a big deal anyway. Tell me the last time you saw me wear a pair of slippers."

Al shook his head and replied with a sigh, "Just promise me you won't bring those on a business trip ok?"

"Nope, can't do that," Sam said playfully. "Now that I have them on, they're really comfortable." He swiveled around on the stool so he could hold his leg out and looked at the slipper closely. "Yup, I think the next time we have to go to one of those funding meetings, these are coming with me. Maybe I'll wear 'em with my suit."

"Over my dead body," Al said under his breath.

"What was that?" Sam asked in the same playful tone. "I didn't quite hear you. I think you said something about a dead body?"

"Yeah, Kid. I know you're just joking but really, you want this project to stay healthy, lose the slippers anywhere near a business situation."

Sam shook his head and laughed lightly. "And you say I'm easy to tease. That's the pot calling kettle black."

"I said I know you were joking. I'm just saying, there's a place for joking and a place for being more serious."

"Ok. Lighten up, would ya," Sam said holding up his hands. "You're taking this way too seriously." In an effort to change the subject he asked, "So, what's for breakfast, Wolfgang?"

Deciding that letting this go was probably a good idea, Al shrugged. He was about to answer Sam's question about breakfast when the kid threw in something else. "Wolfgang?" Al asked, confused.

"Yeah, Wolfgang as in Wolfgang Puck." Seeing the confusion still on Al's face, Sam further explained, "He's a chef."

"Oh. I wasn't thinking of anything fancy, Kid. I've got coffee already made, juice in the fridge and outside of that, just wanted to know what you want to eat."

"Hot cereal's fine," Sam answered as he sipped at his tea. "You know I don't need anything fancy."

"Ok." Al opened the pantry door. "Which do you want? Cream of Wheat or oatmeal."

"Surprise me." Sam took another sip from his tea then put the mug down. "So, did you end up sleeping on the couch all night?" he asked as casually as he could.

Al grabbed the oatmeal. "Yeah. I was glad you didn't wake up again though."

"I'm sorry about that." Sam looked down, running his finger around the outside of the mug. "I don't know why that happened last night or why I was so...I don't know...morose last night." He took a deep breath and raised his head looking at Al. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it is because of everything that's happened."

"Makes sense, Kid. Life's been throwing you curveballs of late." He finished fixing the oatmeal and brought it over to Sam.

"I'm tired of curveballs." Sam put a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth and swallowed it. "I'd like a nice simple fastball for a change. I wouldn't even mind be benched for a couple of games."

"Yeah...but you don't get to be the pitcher when you're up to bat."

Sam's brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed as he puzzled out what Al was saying. "What the heck is that supposed to mean? I know you can't pitch and bat at the same time. I'm just saying I'd like things to be a little easier for a while."

"That's my point. You don't get to choose what life sends you. You just have to go with the flow. I'd like it to give you a break for a while too, trust me. It would be a break for me as well."

"I'm sorry," Sam sighed. He felt like he'd been saying it a lot lately. "I'm not sure why you bother with me sometimes. Lately, I've been pretty high maintenance. I really wouldn't blame you if you said you just wanted to throw in the towel." He stirred the oatmeal slowly. "This definitely isn't what you signed up for."

"I bother with you cause you're my best friend. That means a lot to me." Al sat down next to Sam and had him turn his eyes to him before continuing. "I didn't know how lucky I was when you walked into the cafeteria that night. If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably be on the street of some city right now sharing a bottle with another bum. You changed that for me. No matter what happens, I'll be here for you. It has nothing to do with signing up for anything."

Sam shook his head and grinned ruefully. "We're some pair, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Al said, grinning back and pausing to savor that moment. However, a second later, he was back to being Papa Bear. "Now eat your oatmeal before it gets cold."

"I'm eating it," Sam responded somewhat snippy. "Just back off, ok."

Al was taken somewhat aback by Sam's sudden change in attitude. He put it off as the kid still getting over the chemical pneumonitis. "Good. You need to eat good stuff to build back up after this latest curveball."

"I get it. I know," Sam griped. "I'm eating it, aren't I? Haven't I done everything you said since we got home yesterday?"

"Well, yeah. I wasn't inferring you haven't, Kid."

"No, you're just making sure you're bossing me around, though. I feel like I made a deal with the devil just to come home." His eyes hardened as he looked across at Al. "You know, I could have just checked myself out of there AMA."

Al nodded. "Yeah, but you would have pissed your doctor off even more if you did that, Sam."

"So? I wasn't a prisoner, you know. He couldn't keep me there against my will." It wasn't even 24 hours since he'd been released from the hospital and already Sam was regretting the deal he'd made with Al. He'd never been comfortable with yielding complete control to his friend and that's what he'd done this time. "I'm not your prisoner either…and you're not my father so don't tell me what to do."

Al's eyes narrowed slightly. "What's this really about, Sam? I'm on your side, you know."

"It's not about anything," Sam said. He was ready to argue and push his point that he could take care of himself but one look at his friend's face and his will crumbled. "It's not about anything," he repeated in a softer voice. "I'm just tired of being someone else's responsibility, that's all. Everyone takes care of me but I can never seem to return the favor."

"Yeah. I get you there, Kid. I know the feeling." Sam's words brought back those early days right after returning from 'Nam when he had to let the doctors and nurses at Bethesda do their magic of getting him stronger. He'd always been able to take care of himself until he'd been captured and kept in the tiger cage for several years. Going through that had been hell and although Sam's situation wasn't the same, he could understand Sam's reluctance to continue living that way.

"No, you don't understand," Sam stated. "You might have needed others to take care of you for a while but it's not like that anymore for you. I always seem to get stuck there. Whether it's you, my parents, Professor LoNigro; I always end up someone else's responsibility but I never return the favor." He looked down at the bowl of oatmeal, poking at it with the spoon but not eating it. When he continued, his voice was tinged with sadness. "I told you, I couldn't even be there for my Dad."

"Back to that again." Al blew out a breath. "You were all of 19 when he died, Sam. Nineteen. It was a different time for you." He was on a roll. "And Dr. LoNigro? From what I understand, you went to Cambridge right before your 17th birthday to get acclimated to the area. I say thank heavens you had someone there watching out for you. MIT is a great place, but it's not like being in Elk Ridge. As for me, what did I just say? You were there for me at my lowest point. You took responsibility for me when I couldn't take it for myself. I'd say the shoe's been on the other foot before for sure."

"I'm done," Sam said dropping the spoon into the half-filled bowl and pushing it away from him. He'd stopped listening to Al after he heard the word 'again'. "I'm sorry if I'm boring you. May I be excused from the table?" he asked sarcastically.

Al blinked a few times, not understanding where this was coming from. With a calm voice that belied how he was really feeling, he raised his eyebrows slightly as he said, "Yeah. Sure. Don't want you to feel like I'm making your life miserable."

"You're not making my life miserable," Sam mumbled as he got up and headed out of the kitchen. "I think I'm making your life that way."

Al started to reach to grab Sam's shoulder but failed to connect. He wasn't sure what was wrong with the kid, but no matter what he said, it seemed to make things worse. As Sam left the kitchen, he bit at his lip. Maybe he should get some help with what might be going on in that genius noggin. As much as he disliked 'shrinks,' he wondered if Verbena could help.

The two men spent the rest of the day in the same house but not in the same space. Sam worked on the computer, taking breaks throughout the day. They weren't necessarily one hour breaks like Al had requested, but the older man wasn't sure he wanted to push Sam at this point. He'd wait until after he'd talked with Verbena.

Their only real contact throughout the day was when he brought Sam his medication or forced him to do the breathing exercises. Meal times, although at the same table were quiet, strained affairs.

Before going to bed, Al told Sam he planned to go into the project the next morning. Sam hadn't really said much about it. For the first time in a long time, Al went to sleep wondering what had happened and if somehow, he'd screwed up the best friendship he'd ever had.

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Since going to bed, Sam hadn't slept much. Mostly he'd tossed and turned. He'd done his best to avoid Al all day. It was just easier than getting into any kind of argument with him. Dinner had been a strained affair. Even though the two of them were sitting at the same table, they'd said hardly anything to each other and may well have been in different rooms.

He wasn't sure what was going on with himself. He just knew that it wasn't fair that he'd taken his foul mood out on his friend. After all the man had done for him the last few weeks, let alone the last few years, it just wasn't fair.

Suspecting that Al might be in the same fix he was in as far as sleep, Sam finally got out of bed and went to Al's room at the other end of the house. Summoning up his courage, though he didn't know why he'd need it, he knocked on the door and waited for a response.

"Come in," came the answer. There had been a slight pause between the knock and the voice.

Sam pushed open the door and hesitantly walked into the room. "Did I wake you?" he asked after a pause.

"No. Not really. I was just lying here thinking, mostly." Al said the words as if he wasn't really sure they were the right ones. He sat up.

Sam heard the hesitation in his friend's voice and knew it matched the way he was feeling. "I…um…I guess I was doing the same thing." He came further into the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He pulled in a deep breath before continuing, "I'm not angry with you even if it seems that way."

"I'm not sure what to think, Sam." Al was as non-committal as he could be. He definitely didn't want to upset any apple cart again tonight.

Sam looked down at the carpet. Based on the answer from Al, he knew the man had to be second-guessing things right now. "I'm angry with myself," he explained, "but somehow you keep getting in the way."

Al heard the kid telling him that he realized he was taking out his anger on him. The older man didn't fully understand that. Again he figured he needed to speak with Verbena to get some perspective. Figuring that perhaps a lot of this had to do with the situations Sam had recently been through, Al answered, "Well, you've been through a lot. You're just tired and stressed, kid. I think," he continued hesitantly, "that you're thinking a lot about your dad right now. You couldn't have changed what happened to him."

"I know that. That's not why I'm angry with myself." Sam shrugged his shoulders slightly and kept looking down at the carpet. "I'm forgetting him, Al," he said morosely. "I'm forgetting him more and more every day. Today...yesterday," he corrected himself looking at the clock, "was his birthday but I didn't remember until after lunch. I just forgot about it." He laughed with little humor. "I'm supposed to have a photographic memory but I can't remember my own father's birthday."

Al put his hand out and rested it comfortingly on his friend's back. "Still, you are getting over a significant trauma, Kid. Give yourself a break. I'm sure you would have remembered otherwise."

"That's no excuse. No matter what, he never forgot our birthdays." He looked up at Al and blinked back the tears he didn't want to fall. "I'm afraid I'm going to lose him forever...that I'm just going to forget everything about him and someone - something," he quickly corrected, "is going to replace him."

"That doesn't happen, Sam." Al didn't know how to explain it. "Sure, there are other things that happen in our lives and memory fades, but our loved ones are always there."

"You can't say that for sure," Sam said shaking his head. "I forget more about him every day. I just wish I had one more chance, that's all. Just one more chance to tell him I love him...just one more chance to feel him hug me, or hear him say my name. I swear, I wouldn't forget. I'd hang on to that."

Al sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Kid. We only get one shot at that. I'm really, really sorry the answer isn't different."

"There's nothing you can say," Sam said sadly. He started to get up from where he was sitting on the foot of the bed. "I better let you get some sleep if you're going to drive out to the project tomorrow." He didn't get more than a step away from the bed before a coughing jag started reminding him that even though he'd like to think he was fine, he still had some recovering to do. He dropped back down to sit on the bed, doubling over until the coughing finally stopped.

Al had started to lie back down when Sam started to leave the room but sat up quickly as the man started into his coughing jag. Concerned, he provided support for the ill man. Once it was over, he asked, "You sure it was a good idea to leave the hospital, Kid?"

"I had to," Sam replied weakly leaning into the support Al provided. "I just couldn't be there anymore." He took an experimental deep breath to see if it would start the cough again. When it didn't, he relaxed slightly and straightened up. "You're not going to tell Dr. Rivers about this are you?" he asked in concern. "I don't want to have to go back."

Al looked at Sam intently. "Tell me that medically being out of the hospital's not going to backfire on you. Remember, I can tell if you're lying to me."

"No, it's not," Sam quickly answered. "As long as I'm careful, I'll be fine."

Al nodded. "Ok. Then I won't tell Rivers."

"Thanks," Sam said as he rose from the bed. The coughing fit had tired him out and he moved slowly, careful not to trigger another one. "Good night, Al."

"Good night" Al watched Sam moving slowly. Again, he felt he needed to talk with Verbena. Looking at the clock, he realized that would be in about 5 hours. He sighed and turned over to go back to sleep. Unconsciousness wouldn't come easily.

Sam was surprised when Al didn't follow him out of the room and back to his bedroom. When he reached the living room, he dropped down to sit on one of the couches. The coughing fit had left him winded and tired and he needed a few minutes to catch his breath. Without intending to, he slid down on the couch until his head was pillowed on the arm. Despite how many thoughts were crashing through his mind, his body had had enough and demanded he sleep. He never made it back to his room as he fell asleep where he was.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping like that when he woke up. It had to be a while, though, if the crick in his neck and the chill in his body was any indication. Not wanting to give Al any cause for worry, he hastily got up from the couch and went into his room, getting in bed. He was still tired, and cold from however long it was he'd been sleeping on the couch without any kind of blanket. Curling up under the covers, he soon fell back to sleep.

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Al had gotten ready and left early. He'd been surprised that Sam hadn't come out but when he'd looked into the kid's room, he'd found him fast asleep. It almost made him stay home, but he figured he really did need to speak with Verbena.

He did slip into Sam's room long enough to check on him and make sure there was no reason for him to stay home. Deeply asleep, the younger man didn't even flinch when he rested his hand on his forehead checking for fever. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the absence of the warmth of fever. He listened closely to Sam's breathing. The slight wheeze he'd had since waking up in the hospital was barely noticeable. Satisfied that, physically, Sam was doing as well as he had been, he slipped out of the room and left for the project.

The whole drive to the project, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were ready to come to a head and it would be disastrous if not handled properly. Thus it was that he found himself, hand raised, ready to knock on her door. He found it ironic that he was the one seeking someone out. However, after the situations that had happened, he felt it was for the best. He rapped his fingers on the door and awaited a response.

"Come in," a female voice called out.

Al slowly opened the door. As he walked in, he started getting nervous and having second thoughts. "Um, maybe this wasn't the best plan..."

"Al," Verbena said in surprise when she saw who had been knocking. "I didn't expect to see you for a couple of days." She waved the nervous man into her office. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Al figured that since he was in the door, he might as well stay. "Um...well...it's like this..." He sat down but didn't really start to say anything.

"Just say it," Verbena advised. "It'll be a lot easier that way."

"I'm worried about Sam," Al finally said, allowing the words to come out in a flood.

"Is something wrong? Is he back in the hospital?" Verbena asked in alarm. "I know he left earlier than he should have."

Al waved that off. "No. Physically Sam's ok." He remembered the coughing jag and amended, "Well, not ok, but he doesn't need a hospital. Just rest and to do his therapy." He sighed. "It's his guilt."

"Guilt?" Verbena question clearly confused. "What does he have to feel guilty about?"

"He doesn't have anything to feel guilty about. That's the problem."

"You're losing me, Al. What's this about?" She saw the reluctance on Al's part and prompted him gently, "You wouldn't have come here if you didn't want my help. I can't give it if I don't know what the problem is."

"Sam's father died."

"I know that. It's in his file...which I read." She sat back in the chair and looked carefully at Al. "Now tell me something I don't know."

"He tears himself up because he wasn't there for him when he needed him. I guess yesterday was his father's birthday and he didn't remember."

"I take it you've tried talking with him about this?"

Al rubbed his face. "Yeah. I've tried. He just gets angry when I do."

"Al, you're close to Sam so it's probably difficult for him to talk with you about this. He probably needs to talk with someone who's more neutral."

"Yeah. If I learned anything after 'Nam, I knew you'd say that. That's why I'm here." Al took a deep breath. "I want him to talk to you."

"Ok," Verbena said slowly. "Have you suggested that to him yet?"

Al gave her a weak grin. "I wanted to talk to you first. Make sure you'd be willing to help him with this...away from the project, so to speak."

"You mean you want to know, if he's willing to talk with me, will I take it back to Weitzman and the rest of the committee or will I keep it confidential." Verbena let out a sigh. "I thought we'd gotten past that. I'm not here as Weitzman's lapdog and anything anyone wishes to talk with me about I'll keep in the strictest of confidence."

Al shook his head. "No. I mean off the project. Nothing goes into the files. I wouldn't even be here if I thought the other was a possibility."

"Admiral, I take my job very seriously," Verbena said in a very business-like voice. "When someone walks through that door seeking my professional assistance, I accord them the same doctor/patient confidentiality that they'd expect if they came to see me in a private practice. Does that answer your question?"

"So, nothing in the official files?" Al wouldn't take the next step unless he knew that was negotiated. Verbena might be on the project now, but if someone else ever came in, the files could be used against his buddy and he wouldn't allow that to happen.

"Unless it has something to do with the project, no."

"This is as far away from the project as you get." He paused. "You said you read his file. Sam was only 19 when his father died. He missed the funeral. Hell, a good deal of the time he blames himself for everything - his family's loss of their farm, his father's death, not arriving on time for the funeral. I think this latest illness has just brought it to a head."

Verbena took in all that Al was telling her silently. "What would you like me to do?" she asked once he was finished.

"What do you think? I don't really know how to proceed here." He bit at his lip wondering how much of his own life he should talk about. "You've probably read in my file. I don't trust shrinks. I'm willing to trust you, though, cause we're not talking about me...we're talking about Sam."

"I understand all that, Al. I just want to know what it is you're asking me to do here. If you want to know if I'll talk with Sam, of course I will if that's what he wants."

"I want to know if you have any suggestions of how to hit Sam up with this."

"Me?" Verbena was surprised that Al would think she'd have more insight into approaching Sam than his best friend would. "You've know him longer than I have. You're his friend. You probably know better than I ever could how best to approach him."

Al squirmed a little in his seat. "Yeah, but Sam knows how I feel about shrinks. Don't you think he'd be, I don't know, suspicious if I suggested he needs to go to one?"

Verbena leaned forward crossing her arms on the desk. "Do you think he needs to talk to someone in a professional capacity or do you think he just needs to talk to someone else? No matter what you might think of 'shrinks,'" she smiled slightly when she said the word, "I don't think you'd be in here right now if you didn't see some benefit from it."

Giving her a weak grin, Al responded. "They're ok, I guess. I've never found a need for them myself, but it's like I said. This is Sam. As much as I've been his friend, I'm not sure this is something I can help him with." Al paused. "There's also something else that might be important. I guess when Sam was younger, they tended to put him under a microscope. You know, child development specialists, psychologists, other's trying to figure out why he was the way he was."

"So he's got a good reason not to trust anyone in the field." She leaned back in her seat and was silent for a moment thinking; "You realize unless he wants to speak with me, there's really not much I can do and, honestly, I'm not sure just how much he does trust me."

"Yeah. So that's why I was wondering if you could help me with an approach." Al was quiet for a moment as if gathering his thoughts and feelings. He mused, his eyes looking away from Verbena. "It hurts to see him do this to himself. I really think he needs to come to some resolution or it's going to rip him apart." He moved his eyes to take in hers. "What do you think I should do?"

"I think you need to be honest with him," Verbena quickly answered. When it looked like Al was going to say something, she held up her hand. "Hear me out. You said it yourself. He knows how you feel about psychiatrists so if you're suggesting he speak to someone, it'll have impact with him. He trusts you and he knows you wouldn't do anything that's going to hurt him emotionally or physically. If you're not honest with him, you'll run the risk of hurting that trust."

Al listened to what she said. It made sense. Additionally, he didn't need to do anything that would potentially damage that trust. Especially after the situation with the letter. "Yeah. I can see that. I guess I just need to suggest it to him, huh." He huffed out a little laugh, "That's one conversation that I'm not looking forward to, though."

Verbena returned the laugh. "Well, I didn't say it would be easy. I haven't spent much time with Sam but it strikes me he can be rather headstrong and stubborn. It's safe to say you've got your work cut out for you." As she continued, she grew more serious. "If you can convince him, my door's open. I'll be willing to listen to him and help however I can."

"Thank you, Verbena. I hope he'll be willing." Al turned the conversation. "I've been so wrapped up with Sam recently, I haven't asked, how are you? I mean, you settling into the project well? Socorro? Anything I can do to make things easier?"

"It's taking a little while but things are starting to settle down," Verbena replied. "Did you leave Sam alone?" she asked curiously.

"You mean today? Yeah. Sam's back at the house. I wanted to pick up a few things that he'll be able to work on. Easy stuff that won't tax his strength." His lips curved in a wry smile. "You have no idea how difficult it is to keep him from climbing the walls."

I'm sure it is," Verbena agreed. "I am surprised you left him alone, though, considering."

Al nodded. "Well, I don't think the kid's on the edge or anything. Sure, he's continuing to head down a path that I'd like to pull him back from, but I don't think that's a problem. As to his recuperation, he assured me that everything's ok on that front. I'm only planning on being gone a few hours."

"I see," Verbena agreed. "I'm sure you're doing what's best and his doctor told you everything to look out for. You do know he's more susceptible to pneumonia right now, right?"

Al nodded. "Yeah. That's part of the reason I wanted to pick up easy stuff for him to work on. I don't want him stressing himself and shooting himself in the foot. He doesn't want to go back into the hospital and I'm going to help him achieve that goal."

"I don't envy you the task. From what I can see, Sam's a bit of a workaholic. I'm guessing he's not taking to forced inactivity very well. Still, it's the best thing for him right now."

Al smiled. "I know and I'm trying to make sure he's the most inactive he can be. Can't tie him up and lock him in his room." Al thought of Sam's past and how bad a solution that would be. No, forced inactivity and Sam was an oxymoron.

"No," Verbena laughed. "I guess you can't do that even if it is tempting."

He nodded but didn't say anything more. His next stop was to head to Sam's office and pull some things off his desk and out of his files. Once that was completed, he checked in with Gooshie, Tina and Jose Morales, the latter being the construction team lead. Everything was moving like clockwork. All asked how Sam was doing and were happy to hear he was again on the mend. Content that he'd done everything he needed, he retrieved his car and headed back down the state highway toward home.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

By the time Sam had woken up, Al had already left for the project. When he went out to the kitchen, he found his prescription bottles on a note from Al telling him he'd be back as soon as he could, to rest, and to take his medicine.

Pulling the caps off the bottles, Sam took all of the medication he was supposed to. He knew he should eat something healthy for breakfast but he just didn't have it in him to make anything. Instead, he had a banana that was over ripe and a small bowl of cereal.

After putting the bowl from his cereal in the sink, he went into his bedroom. Finding the spirometer, he did his therapy. He felt momentary satisfaction when he was able to make the mark on four of the five inhalations. It was short-lived, though, since he had no one to share the satisfaction with.

After taking a quick shower, he decided he was going to do his best to make amends for the previous day. It was probably a good thing that Al had gone into the project for a little while today. The two of them were probably spending too much time together and that was sure to cause friction.

As a peace offering, he decided he'd make dinner tonight. Al generally liked it when he made chicken and rice with cream of mushroom soup on top so maybe that would work well tonight. He went out to the kitchen to see if he had everything he'd need to make it.

Although there was chicken in the freezer, there was no rice and only one can of the soup. Looking up at the clock, he figured he had time before Al would be home. It was only 10:00 now. He'd have plenty of time to run out to the grocery store and Al would be none the wiser. Since Gooshie and Tina had brought his Jeep home while he was in the hospital, he had the means to get there. Grabbing his coat and car keys, he went out to the garage and on to the grocery store.

He did his best to make his shopping as quick as he possibly could but like Al had found out a couple of weeks ago, it took him a little longer than usual since everything was moved around.

As he drove up to the house, he felt his stomach drop to his knees when he saw Al's car parked outside. He knew he was not going to be happy that he'd gone to the grocery store. He contemplated just driving on for a few seconds but knew that was just childish. Instead, he pulled into the garage ready to face the music. He'd no sooner turned off the engine than the door leading to the laundry room was yanked open.

Al entered the garage, the fear he'd felt when he'd come home and found Sam gone hardly alleviated by the kid's return and showing in his features. He moved quickly to the Jeep. As Sam got out he demanded, "Where the hell have you been?"

"I went to pick up some groceries," Sam calmly explained. It wouldn't do for the two of them to have emotional responses right now. "I was going to make dinner tonight since you've been doing all the work but I didn't have what I needed."

Doing his best to calm down, now that he knew Sam was ok, Al asked, "And you couldn't leave a note or something? I didn't know why you'd left. You could have been driving yourself to the doctor's or the hospital or..." Realizing he was going off the deep end, he trailed off. He finished with, "I was worried when I came home to an empty house."

"I didn't mean to worry you. I thought I'd be back before you," Sam explained. He reached into the backseat to pull the bags out that were there. "Why did you immediately think something had happened?"

Al reached to grab one of the bags. "What would you think? I mean, we both know that in the last year, things just seem to go that way."

Sam yanked the bag back that Al was trying to take. "If it were me, I'd think maybe you just went out to get a change of scenery or something. I wouldn't jump right to the worst case scenario."

"Yeah, well, that would fit my pattern. It doesn't fit yours." He tried to take back the bag.

"Give it to me," Sam demanded. "I can carry it."

"I know you can, but I want to help," Al retorted.

"Maybe I don't want help," Sam retorted. "It's two bags. I can carry them without help."

"Fine. You don't want my help, then...fine." Al turned to go back into the house. He'd spent the drive back from the project thinking about how he'd calmly explain his thoughts about Sam getting help and now he was blowing it. He figured maybe he just needed to cool off in his room. This certainly wasn't the way to handle things. On the one hand, he understood that things were actually ok and that it was a good thing that Sam was showing his initiative. On the other, Verbena's statement that forced inactivity was the best thing for Sam at the moment rang through his head and going out to get groceries certainly wasn't that. Still, until he was calm again, he couldn't really deal with the situation.

Sam watched as Al walked away and drew a deep breath. So much for dinner being a peace offering. He was doing a fine job of taking a step back to last night. Accepting that right now Al needed his space, he took the bags of groceries to the kitchen, emptied them, and put the groceries away. When he was done with that, he took out some bread, peanut butter, and jelly and made a sandwich for lunch. Hopefully it wouldn't take long before Al would be out of his room.

He took his sandwich and a glass of milk, went into the living room, and slumped on one of the couches. Finding the remote control, he turned on the news as he ate his sandwich and drank his milk. The grocery shopping had been just a little more draining than he'd thought it would be.

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When Al entered his room, he took the rather small area to pace. Three steps one way, crisp reverse and back again three steps. He tried to think of why they kept butting heads like they'd been doing since Sam left the hospital. The only thing he could think of was the fact that Sam had basically negotiated Al's cooperation based on the idea that he'd follow Al's directions. Maybe that was it. Maybe he'd only said that to get Al on his side. Shaking his head, Al threw that line of thought out. If he knew one thing about Sam Beckett, it was that he generally said what he meant. He stopped pacing for a moment. Still, what if Sam didn't even know that's what he was doing?

He let out a sarcastic laugh. "See what happens when you go to see a shrink? You start thinking like one," he said out loud to himself. Even with that, he had to admit, there was some logic to the thought. Maybe Sam didn't understand what was happening anymore than Al did. He decided it was time for that honest talk that Verbena had suggested. With that, he left the room. He found Sam in the living room. The kid looked absolutely drained.

"Um..Sam?" He started, wanting to start this conversation with less dramatics than they'd had the last few days. "You think we can talk?"

"Yeah, maybe we should," Sam answered turning in Al's direction. He'd made a promise to himself that when Al came out of his room, he'd try to keep his emotions in check and listen to what he had to say. He turned off the TV and put the plate with the rest of his sandwich on the coffee table.

Al nodded and came into the room, choosing the armchair to sit on. "First off, I apologize for flying off the handle. I was worried but I should have given you a chance to explain before thinking the worst." He knew it was a bad habit of his built from years of having worst case scenarios play out. Still, he knew he shouldn't assume.

Sam nodded slightly accepting the apology Al offered.

Al took a deep breath. "I guess part of it was I'd been steeling myself to talk with you when I got back today. Finding the house empty sort of played into that stress."

Al's words heightened Sam's curiosity. "Talk to me about what?" he asked suspiciously.

Al blinked. He started hesitantly…cautiously. "You know I'd never say anything unless I really felt it was in your best interest, right?"

"Um...yeah," Sam agreed just as cautiously. "What are you getting at, Al?"

"Well, you've been under a lot of stress recently. I think it's maybe..." He was finding this harder to do than what he'd let on to Verbena. Her words rang in his mind. _Be honest_. "I think that maybe it would help if you talked to someone with professional experience."

Mouth agape, Sam stared at Al for a few seconds wondering if he'd really heard what he thought he heard. "What did you say?" he asked very carefully. "What are you trying to tell me?" This was the last thing he thought he'd hear from Al.

Al saw the shock on Sam's face and felt like a heel for doing this. Still, he really felt it was in the kid's best interest. He pushed on. "Well...you've been fixated on some things of late. I just think that maybe talking with someone about it...someone that understands better how our minds deal with things might be helpful."

"A psychiatrist?" Sam asked in shock. "You think I'm crazy and I need to talk to a shrink?" He jumped up from the couch and started to pace the living room. "Just because I went to get some groceries, you think I'm nuts?"

Al hastened to explain. "Nuts? No. I don't think you're nuts. The groceries have nothing to do with it, Sam." He let out a breath. "It's the other things. The nightmares. The guilty feeling's you have." He didn't add the sudden snapping that Sam seemed to do recently whenever he tried to help. He didn't want him to think he thought this was about him. Al finished, "I just think someone could help in that area, you know?"

Sam stopped pacing to face Al. "So I've had some bad dreams. Big deal. You gonna tell me you never have them?" He started moving around the living room again. "I'm not having any guilty feelings either. You're just making that up." He stopped pacing and whirled around to face Al. "I don't need help. You're just tired of being here, that's all," he spat. "Then leave. I can get along just fine without you or anyone else."

Al looked down for a moment to think of how to answer that. He looked up and softly answered, "I'm not tired of being here, Kid. That's not what this is about. I'm just concerned about you." Taking a breath, he let it out. This was hard. He could see that accusation in Sam's eyes that Al hadn't given up on him. "I think you've been carrying the guilt for so long, you don't even recognize it, Kid." When Sam didn't say anything, he got up. "Ok. I've said my piece. If you really want me to leave, I will. I don't want to, but it's your life."

"I never told you to leave," Sam pointed out, "And I don't know what this "guilt" you're talking about is." He sat down on the edge of the couch and buried his face in his hands. "You're talking in riddles and I can't figure out what the hell you're saying."

Al moved over to Sam and put his hand on his shoulder, torn by seeing him so distressed. "Your father, Sam. You keep blaming yourself because he's gone. If that's not misplaced guilt, I don't know what is."

Sam jerked away from the hand on his shoulder. "You leave him out of this," he hissed. "Don't you dare bring my father into this."

Wincing as Sam pulled away, Al swallowed. "Sorry, Kid. I'm just trying to be honest here." He felt he was truly blowing this. At the rate he was going, Sam would surely be ready to sever their partnership soon. The thought depressed the older man.

"Honest?" Sam asked getting up from the couch. He took a step toward Al forcing him to step back. "You're trying to be honest? So what? You've been lying all this time?"

Taken aback, Al shook his head. "No. I've never lied to you, Kid. I just know this isn't the easiest thing for you to hear, much less me to say." He dropped his head. "What's the use? You're just going to get angry with me again and then we'll go round and round again. Maybe it would be better if I left."

"Whatever, Al." There was no inflection in Sam's voice when he spoke. He felt as if he'd been blindsided by his friend and it sucked the fight out of him. He slumped back down on the couch. "You can do what you want. I'll…I'll be ok by myself." He thought back to his days at MIT. Younger than the rest of his classmates, he'd kept mostly to himself. "I've been on my own plenty of times," he finished morosely.

Al looked at Sam once more, torn by the way things had played out. "Sure, Kid, sure." He headed out of the room. He began to think of what this might all mean. If Sam truly meant it, this could mean the end of their friendship. He'd said the night before; he'd always be there for the kid. However, he wouldn't stay where he wasn't wanted. Sam certainly had made it clear, at least in Al's mind, that he wasn't really thrilled with him being around anymore. He walked into his room.

Dropping heavily on the bed he sighed and looked around. He knew he should start packing up, but he didn't have any energy to do so. Instead he just sat, numb.

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Sam heard Al move to the other end of the house and suspected he was going to his room to pack his belongings before leaving. He pulled his legs up on the couch trying to make himself as small as possible and wondered where and how he'd screwed up so badly. He wanted to follow Al and stop him from leaving but what would it really accomplish to keep him some place he didn't want to be. After all the times he'd given Al that out to walk away, he was finally taking it...and Sam felt like his world had just fallen apart around him. The last time he'd felt this lost was the day he'd found out his father had died.

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Al didn't know how long he sat there. He lost the concept of time. Instead, the times that he and Sam had spent together since that first meeting in the cafeteria at the vending machine played in his mind. Sam's fight for him to break the bottle's hold on him, the burgeoning romance that Sam had had with Donna and the depths the woman had thrown him to. The end of Starbright and the beginning of their partnership. The trip to Colorado and the way he felt when he thought that Sam had lost his grip on life. The first time Sam's mother had spent Christmas with him in Socorro and the way he'd been made to feel like family. The trip to Washington and Sam's stay in the hospital and his subsequent bout with his nightmares and flu in Hawaii. The previous Christmas at the cabin, snowed in and Sam's trek of three miles on feet that were recovering from frostbite to get help for him. The more Al thought, the more he decided to give it another shot. This wasn't a relationship he was willing to give up easily.

He pulled himself out of his stupor and went back to the living room. Finding Sam in an almost fetal position, he switched immediately to concern. After all, Verbena's words that Sam wasn't out of the woods yet resonated. Concerned that he'd taken a turn for the worst medically he asked, "What's the matter, Sam?

Sam heard Al's return to the living room but didn't want to face it when he said he was ready to leave. Instead, he pulled himself in tighter. He heard his friend's voice but he didn't hear the words he said and shook his head mutely. He didn't want to hear goodbye.

Not hearing anything, Al moved in closer, sitting on the edge of the sofa and reaching his hand to feel his forehead. "Sam?" His voice was tinged with a bit of fear. The kid had seemed fine, if a little tired, when he'd left the Jeep earlier. Now Al wondered if that hadn't been tiredness but the beginning of the pneumonia that Verbena had spoken of. Internally he braced himself to face the potential of another round of hospitalization for his best friend.

Feeling the hand on his forehead, this time Sam moved fractionally closer instead of pulling away. "Don't go," he whispered. "I don't want you to."

"I'm not leaving, Kid," Al said, glad to find that he wasn't feverish. "It'll take more than you being angry with me to make me go."

"I'm not angry with you." Sam didn't move from the ball he'd curled into. Despite what Al had said, he wasn't sure that he wasn't still going to leave. "I'm not. I'm just confused. I don't know why you think I need to talk to someone. You never did before."

Sam was running scared. Al could hear it in his voice. He really couldn't blame him after the time he'd had the last couple of weeks. Moving from the edge of the sofa, he sat down next him and put an arm around his shoulders. He felt Sam lean into him just a little. "Things are just different now. I really think these things are bothering you more. It's becoming almost obsessive. And this, this isn't about me, but you've taken to snapping at me more and more. You say you're not angry with me, but the way you react, I'm not so sure. I'm not even sure if you realize you're doing it."

Sam uncurled from the ball he'd pulled himself into leaning further into Al. "I don't mean to take anything out on you. It just…happens."

"I know, Sam. I just think that all these things have been affecting you and you're internalizing them instead of dealing with them. Eventually, the pressure builds and it's got to go somewhere." He sighed. "This isn't like you, Kid. That's why I think you need to talk with someone. I don't think you're nuts. I think you're normal and these things are eating into you."

"I don't know if I can talk to someone, Al. I don't know if I'm ready for something like that." Sam straightened up, looking straight in front of him. "I don't want someone to start dissecting me to see what makes me tick."

"Not everyone does that, Sam. Sometimes they can just help you reach resolution about an issue or at least learn better ways to deal with things." He decided to provide the seed. "Why don't you try it? You don't have to continue if it doesn't help you."

Sam took a few seconds to think about what Al was saying. Unsure, he said, "I'll think about it but I can't promise anything."

Figuring that was the best he could hope for at this point and unwilling to push it any further tonight, Al nodded. "Ok."

Does this mean you're not going to leave?" Sam asked. He was still unsure what his friend had decided to do. "I didn't mean I wanted you to go. Were you really going to?"

Al shook his head. "I thought you did want me to go, Kid. I thought that's what you wanted but the more I thought about it, the more it didn't matter." He could see that Sam wasn't getting what he was saying. He decided to take a different tact. "I told you last night, I'm here. You're my best friend and I'm not willing to give up on that easily. If you ever do decide you'd rather I leave, you'll probably have to physically throw me out and change the locks."

"Is that a promise 'cause I never wanted you to go. I just thought that's what you wanted."

Nodding, Al said, "Promise. I didn't want to go." He paused. "It was obviously a misunderstanding."

"I was going to make dinner tonight," Sam said forgetting he'd told Al this already when he tried to explain why he'd gone out to the grocery store. "Since you've been doing so much I thought it would be kind of a 'thank you'."

"That would be nice Kid, but only if it doesn't tire you out too much." He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me." Al got up quickly and went to Sam's office, picking up the box he'd brought back from the project. Coming back into the living room he explained, "I picked these up for you."

"It's not a lot of work. I'm just going to make that chicken and rice you seem to like." Sam looked into the box seeing file folders inside of it. "I thought you didn't want me to do any work," he said looking over to Al for clarification.

"These I think you can get to. They're not the most exciting of your projects, but I figure they'll keep you busy."

Picking up the top two folders, Sam pulled out a crossword puzzle book from underneath them. "I don't think this is really one of my projects," he said holding it up. He flipped through it briefly. "It'll give me something to do, though."

"They were on your desk, kid," Al smiled. He thought for a moment. "That file was probably one of Gooshie's and when he sent it to you to review, he just left his crossword puzzle book."

Sam put the crosswords puzzle book aside and finished flipping through the folders. "Thanks for bringing these for me. At least I'll have something to do now." He put the folders he'd take out back in the box. "Dr. Rivers office called while you were out," he said casually. "He wants me to go in tomorrow for a chest x-ray."

Giving Sam a calm look, the older man asked, "This is just routine, right? Nothing to get worried about?"

"Yeah, just routine. He wants to follow up and make sure things are going the way they should." Knowing where Al's thoughts were heading he added, "It's not because I'm getting sick. I have no symptoms of pneumonia or anything else. It's just a follow up."

"Ok, Kid. Just want to be sure about it." He paused. "How about I help you with that chicken and rice. I'll be your sous chef. You tell me what to do for a change."

At first, Sam was going to decline Al's assistance with the cooking but thought the better of it. He'd given his friend the feeling that he'd been pushing him away of late and now was a good time to change that. "Sure. That sounds good but it's too early to start it yet."

"Ok. You let me know when you're ready though."

"Ok, I will." The two men spent the next couple of hours in a companionable silence. Sam worked his way through the crossword puzzle book and Al watched sports on television. When it was closer to dinnertime, Sam put the book aside. "I guess I should get dinner going."

"Sure Kid," Al said getting up and stretching. "So, what would you like me to do?"

"Um, I'm really not sure. It is pretty easy to make." Sam looked around at the items he had on the counter. "Maybe you can open those cans," he suggested.

"Oui, mon capitan!" Al quipped, walking over to the drawer and pulling out the can opener.

While Al opened the cans of soup, Sam measured out rice and water into a saucepan and put it on the stove to cook. "That's all that needs to be done right now 'til the rice is ready. It really is simple to make," he said before quipping, "It's probably why I make it without messing it up." As he spoke, he pulled a baking dish out of one of the cupboards.

"I've offered to give you cooking lessons, Sam," Al observed.

"I know you have but I just don't think it's that important." Sam looked at Al pleadingly, "can we not get into this, please?"

Al nodded. "Sure, Sam."

"I just don't want us to have any reason to argue," Sam continued. "I'm tired of doing that for stupid things."

"Yeah. I'm not too keen on that concept either."

Al went to the refrigerator. "You want something besides water to drink?"

"There any Diet Coke in there," Sam asked, "and can you pull out that package of chicken?"

"Sure." Al retrieved the items requested. Things seemed to have settled into a comfortable lull and he planned on keeping it there. He decided, he'd watch Sam's recuperation but he wasn't going to rock the boat. There'd been enough of that recently.

Sam opened the can of Coke and set it aside as he stirred the pan of rice so it wouldn't stick. "I was thinking, after dinner I might play the piano if that's ok with you." He took a deep breath then continued. "I know I haven't exactly lived up to the deal I made with you today. I'll try to be better about that until Dr. Rivers clears me."

"Piano's fine, Kid. I love to hear you play. You know that." Al chose not to push the rules they'd started this latest situation with. "You've been doing everything you need medically. Doing your therapy, taking your meds, and generally resting. I'm happy with that."

Sam looked at Al strangely. This seemed to be a sudden change of heart. It was just a few short hours ago, Al was yelling about him going out and now he was saying he'd done everything he was supposed to. He started to say something but quickly closed his mouth. If Al wanted to pretend nothing had happened earlier and everything was on an even keel, he could play that game as well. It was better than getting into another spitting match with him. Instead, he said, "I hit the mark four times I bet I can get it up there five times next time I try."

"That's great, Sam," Al said with genuine enthusiasm. "I bet you will. You're going to be ok sooner than later, Kid. I can just feel it."

A grin broke out on Sam's face when he heard the praise. "I have you to thank for it."

"What do you mean?" Al asked, somewhat confused by Sam's statement. "I'm not the one doing the breathing therapy. You're doing that."

"You're making sure I do it," Sam said as he stirred the rice again. "That and you're making sure I take my medicine, rest, and everything else I'm supposed to do even if I do fight you on it." He put the spoon down and turned to face Al. "I don't think I'd have made it this far without you," he said seriously.

"I told you, Kid, I'm here for you just like you were there for me. That's what friends do."

"Yeah, that's what friends do," Sam echoed then went back to his cooking.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

A week and a half later, Sam was back at work at the project. During that time, he and Al walked on eggshells around each other trying to avoid any more arguments. Even though Sam convinced Al to go back to work at the project, he still came back to Sam's every night and took him to all his doctor's appointments.

The day finally came when Dr. Rivers cleared Sam to go back to work. He stressed that Sam was only to do light work for the next two weeks and only after his next follow up could he return to working full on.

The day after he returned to work, Sam was at his desk catching up on some of the paperwork that had piled up while he was gone. As he'd told Al, he'd been thinking a lot about the suggestion that he talk to someone. Heaving a deep breath, he shut the folder he was working on. There was no time like the present and the sooner he figured out what was going on, the sooner things would be back to normal between him and Al.

With a sense of determination, he left his office going to the office of Verbena Beeks. When he arrived outside her door, he became hesitant and was ready to back away. Summoning up the courage to continue, he knocked on the door.

When he heard the call to enter, he pushed the door open and walked in. Before he could chicken out he quickly said, "Do you have some time talk?"

Verbena smiled. She recognized that Sam was coming in on his own. After her conversation with Al, she figured this might be that 'off project' discussion and decided to keep a distance at first and allow Sam to close it at his own pace. "Sure Dr. Beckett. What did you want to talk about?"

Sam came into the office and closed the door behind him. He stopped in front of the desk leaning on the back of one of the chairs there. "It's...um...it's nothing to do with the project." He dropped his head down trying to figure out how best to approach what he wanted to talk about. "It's personal," he said quickly. "Al...Admiral Calavicci," he corrected himself, "suggested it might help if I talked with you."

Verbena nodded. "As I told the Admiral, only if you want to talk. I don't want you to feel pressured."

That brought Sam's head up. "What do you mean you told him?" he demanded. "Did Al come to you already?"

Verbena sighed. "He just came by to make sure anything we said would be confidential. I think he wanted to be sure I wouldn't be talking to Weitzman or anyone else." She looked at him pointedly, "Which I won't. Anything we talk about is confidential. Only if what we talk about relates to the project will notes appear in any project files. And even those are confidential."

"What did he tell you about me?" Sam questioned. He moved to sit on one of the chairs. "I can't believe he didn't tell me he'd talked with you."

Keeping to her promise of confidentiality meant guaranteeing Al's as well. "He just said he was concerned about you, Dr Beckett. That he felt it would be good for you to talk to someone and asked me questions to be sure I wouldn't use anything you told me to hurt you."

"I know how doctor/patient confidentiality works," Sam stated. "He wasn't here for himself, he was here because of me. I'd like to know what he told you." He didn't demand the information. He had to come from a place of rational, not high emotion. "If I'm going to work with you, I think it would be best since whatever Admiral Calavicci told you could color how you interpret what I tell you."

Verbena bit her lip. "I can ask the Admiral to join us or to give me his permission to disclose."

Sam considered the options trying to decide which might be the better. "Maybe he can join us for a little while," he offered. Since this did have something to do with how he was interacting with Al of late, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to let him speak his piece and get it out there.

She nodded and picked up the phone. Calling Al's office found him at his desk and she extended the invitation. After she hung up, she told Sam, "He'll be right here."

Sam nodded and the two waited for Al's arrival. While they waited, Verbena asked how Sam was doing physically and the two made some general small talk until there was a knock at the door. Verbena recognized the knock as Al's and called for him to come in.

"Um, hi, Sam," Al said a little nervously as he walked into the room.

"Hi Al," Sam responded just as nervously. "Dr. Beeks told me you've been here talking about me." His voice was neutral but his face conveyed his curiosity and concern.

Verbena interjected. "I told Sam that you were concerned about him and that you'd checked out whether I was going to use his words against him."

Al went from a concerned look to understanding. "Yeah. I was concerned. I told you that, Sam."

"I know you told me that," Sam agreed. "You didn't tell me you'd come to see Dr. Beeks. I'd just like to know what the two of you talked about since it concerns me."

Al nodded. "I told her a little about how you were sort of prodded by shrinks when you were a kid."

Sam knew avoidance when he saw it, especially coming from Al. "And what else? I know you didn't come here just to tell her I got dissected as a kid. Don't BS me, Al. What were you talking about?"

"I asked her if she knew a way to bring this up with you. She said I should be honest." He blew out a breath. "That worked well," he said with a bit of sarcasm.

"It's going to get a whole lot worse," Sam said warningly, "if you don't start getting to the point soon. If you're talking about me, I'd like to know why." He looked directly at Al, his tone clearly indicating he wouldn't stand for anymore of his delaying tactics. "Now tell me what you were talking about."

Al shifted uncomfortably. "Um...well, I might have mentioned a little about what happened in reference to your dad."

"How much is a little?" Sam asked in a tight voice.

Al looked at Sam directly. "Ok. This is it, Kid. I said that I felt you were experiencing unreasonable guilt about his death. From my perspective, it's been tearing you up for a long time and I think it's getting worse." He moved his gaze to Verbena. "I just don't want to see him hurt like this."

Verbena didn't say anything, waiting to see what Sam's reaction was.

Sam looked between the two in silence for a few seconds then abruptly got up and started to move rapidly back and forth in the small space of the office. "Sounds like you've diagnosed me as some kind of screwball already."

Al quickly answered, "You're not a screwball, Sam. You just feel this deeply and..." He seemed to lose steam, "...I don't know. I just think if you don't deal with it differently, it's going to rip you apart."

"I thought it already had," Sam said with a humorless laugh. "Or at least that's what you keep telling me." He drew a deep breath and sat back down in front of the desk. "Ok, maybe it's been bothering a little more lately," he said in concession. He didn't look at Al as he continued aiming his attention at Verbena. "Al seems to think I take it out on him. Maybe he's right."

Verbena kept her voice neutral. "Why do you think that is, Dr. Beckett?"

"Why do I think what is? Why do I keep taking it out on Al?" Sam glanced over to his friend and squirmed uncomfortably before looking back to Verbena. "I don't know," he said evasively. "Maybe because he harps on it so much and he needs to change that record." There was enough question in voice to indicate to both of the others that he didn't believe his own answer.

Verbena blinked a few times before looking to Al. "Admiral? I think for now perhaps you should leave. Dr. Beckett knows the concerns you had and spoke with me about. For now, I need to talk with him alone."

Sam glanced quickly at Al. "Maybe that's a good idea, Al." He looked down and rubbed his hand over his face. "Maybe I do need to talk to someone but I don't think I can if you're here."

Al glanced at Sam and noted his body language. He'd been around the kid enough to know that it meant that there was something there under the surface. Normally, his buddy would take some time before finding a solution to his angst. Right now, though, he figured that Verbena had picked up on it as well. "Yeah. Sure. You know where I'll be if you need me again." He got up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping the touch would convey his hopes that talking would help his friend.

Sam briefly touched the hand on his shoulder. He looked up to his friend giving him a small smile. "I'll find you later for lunch, ok?"

"Yeah, Kid. I'd like that." With a light smile, he disconnected from Sam and left the room.

Verbena watched the two men interacting. It was truly a deep fileo relationship. Sam and Al had somehow forged a bond together. She realized from the way they talked and moved, that she had pegged it right. Both parties received mutual benefit. After Al left, she looked at Sam. "How do you wish to proceed, Dr. Beckett?"

"I...I don't know." Sam gripped the arms of the chair fighting the urge to get up and start moving around the office again. In its small space, he knew he'd end up looking like a caged-in animal. "I've never done this before - at least not voluntarily."

"Well, I want you to be comfortable. We can sit here and chat or move over to the more comfy furniture. The main thing is you're in control of that. It's truly up to you."

Sam looked over to the seating area that Verbena had indicated. It looked comfortable but he didn't think this was a conversation where comfort would matter. "I guess here's all right," he said hesitantly.

She nodded. "Ok, but if you ever feel the need to move, we can."

Sam nodded shortly but didn't say anything more. He was becoming uncomfortable with the situation again and was trying not to get up and bolt for the door.

Verbena added, "You need to know, I'm not trying to figure you out. Rather, I'm here to help you work things out. As I said earlier, since this isn't project related, I'm not putting anything we talk about into any project files, although I will keep information in my personal files. Anything we talk about is fully confidential although I would need to act if you should pose a danger to yourself or another person. I doubt that would happen but I need to let you know."

"I just want to figure out why I keep arguing with, Al," he said softly. "He is right. I do take things out on him a lot and lately it's getting worse. Every time he tries to help me or gives me advice, I bark at him." He looked away briefly studying the titles on the bookshelf beside her desk, then looked back. "He's my best friend but lately – well, if you heard us sometimes you wouldn't think that."

"I'm going to ask you again...why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," Sam responded stubbornly. "Don't you think if I knew, I'd choose to be here? I thought you were supposed to be able to tell me that."

"No. I can't tell you anything." Seeing the look on his face, she continued, "Oh, if you had some sort of medically caused mental or neurological condition, my training would help me diagnose that, but I don't believe that's the situation. Rather, you, like a significant part of the population are having difficulty with dealing with some emotional baggage. You know the answers. I'm just here to help you find them."

"But I don't even know where to look," Sam insisted, "or what the questions are. How am I supposed to find answers without knowing that?"

"That's what I'm here for." She paused. "It's an amazing thing about human beings. They hold so many thoughts, ideas, and beliefs. Things happen and our minds use various techniques to help us get through them. Sometimes those techniques, while helpful at the onset of a trauma, can lead to problems later. When that happens, we have to use verbal and behavioral clues to find the answers inside of us. That's where I come in. You're too close to the situation. I'll help you discover your way."

Sam was no longer able to remain where he sat. He got up once again and began to wander around the small office. He stopped near another bookcase and carefully looked at the books and trinkets that were displayed on it. "How do you do that?" he asked as he picked up a crystal paperweight and turned it over in his hands. He looked at Verbena over his shoulder asking, "How do you help me discover a way if I'm not even sure where to begin?"

"Well...right now, you're finding that you're arguing with your best friend more than usual. That's one of those behavioral clues I'm talking about. You also say that a lot of this has to do with him harping on you. The fact that talking about your father is generating those arguments is likely significant. So, let's try a different tact. What is it about that and Al that's significant?"

The question made no sense to Sam and left him feeling confused. "I don't understand. Al has nothing to do with my father."

"No. Not directly. However, you've said that when he brings up your father, or harps at you - in your words, you get upset with him. Do you get upset if someone else brings up your father's death?"

"No one does. At least not like Al does." He put the paperweight down and came back over to sit in front of the desk. "And that's not the only reason we argue. We've argued about plenty of other stuff."

"Such as?"

"Such as...such as when he treats me like I'm five years old and can't take care of myself," Sam quickly answered. "I am an adult. I can take care myself but sometimes he acts like I couldn't cross the street without him there to hold my hand."

"Does he really treat you like a five year old? What does that feel like?"

"Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little," Sam conceded. "But there are times he thinks he needs to take care of me, tell me what to do. You were kid once, you know how that feels."

"So, what I hear you saying is that when Al shows concern for you, it makes you feel like a child. Would that be an accurate description?"

"I guess...I mean...no... I don't know." Letting out a breath Sam slouched down in the chair. "It's not that I don't appreciate that he is concerned about me. It's just that sometimes it doesn't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right?" she pressed trying to get to the root of Sam's discomfort. Although she knew the likely answer she asked, "Is there anything inappropriate in how he treats you?"

"No," Sam quickly responded. "That's not what I mean. Al hasn't done anything inappropriate - he never would. It's me. It's not him."

"What's you, Dr. Beckett?"

"Sam," he corrected. "If we're going to do this, my name is Sam. It sounds too...too clinical when you keep calling me Dr. Beckett."

"All right, Sam," she said, smiling. "And you can call me Verbena or 'Bena if you'd like." She continued with the line of thought, "You said it was you, not the Admiral. What's you, Sam?"

"I don't know," Sam said hesitantly. "I really don't. I just feel like..." His voice trailed off as he leaned forward and raked his fingers through his hair. "It's not right," he continued.

Seeming to be changing gears, Verbena turned to a topic she'd heard mentioned in the course of conversations with other project personnel. "I understand that you and the Admiral had a spell of bad luck around Christmas. He broke his leg? From what I hear you walked over three miles in the snow to get him help. Do you think that was right?"

"Of course it was." Sam was aghast that she could think it wasn't. "What was I supposed to do? Let him die? He would have done - has done - the same thing for me."

At his facial expression, she was quick to explain. "Well, considering you could have lost your feet from frostbite, some might not have acted so. I personally find that kind of courage admirable. My point is do you think he felt like a child when you showed that concern for him?"

"He didn't want me to go. He was more worried about me than himself."

"So, he continued showing his concern. How did that make you feel?"

Sam thought back to when he'd left Al in the cabin. Although it had happened just a few months ago, it almost felt like a lifetime ago. He was sure that he wouldn't make it in time to get his friend the help he so desperately needed and that he'd lose him. Throughout that whole ordeal, no matter what obstacles they'd been faced with, Al had continually put his own needs second to Sam's. "Angry. It made me angry that he was putting my welfare in front of his own. He could have died but he didn't care."

"It made you angry? That your friend cared about you? It sounds to me that you were putting his welfare before your own."

"No. It made me angry that he'd risk his life." Sam's voice became more strident as the thought of how close Al came to losing his life ran through his mind. "It made me angry because he doesn't understand that I can't do that anymore. I can't lose anyone else. I've lost one father already." He stopped short when he realized what he'd said and quickly corrected himself. "I lost my father and brother. I don't want to lose Al too."

Verbena focused on the slip. "How are Al and your father similar, Sam?"

"I just misspoke," Sam said flatly.

"So there's no similarity between the two of them?"

"No," Sam answered quickly. "My father and Al couldn't be more different. They don't have anything in common."

"Nothing? Al shows a lot of concern for you. Are you saying your father didn't?"

"Of course he did. I don't know what you're getting at." Sam looked away from Verbena and around the room, his eyes alighting on the door. "Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just go."

Verbena knew they were on the edge of an epiphany for Sam. She also knew that such epiphanies were often hard for a patient to face. She decided to go for broke. "I think, Sam, that we're getting close to something you've buried inside for a long time. Often when such things come to the surface, they're disturbing. However, if they're not brought out into the light of day, they continue to plague us, coming out in dreams and behaviors that bother us. Have you had any dreams that bother you? Especially recurring dreams?"

At the mention of dreams, Sam closed his eyes and nodded slightly. Lately he'd been dreaming more of his father and always, he was just out of reach. "I don't know what that has to do with Al or how we get along. He never even knew my father." He knew immediately that whether he wanted to or not, he'd revealed what the dreams were about.

Verbena noticed his slip yet again. "Do you want to tell me about the dreams?" she asked him gently. "Talking about them will help and it may help you find the key to what's happening to you and Al."

Sam was hesitant to share his dreams with the psychiatrist. He'd told Al a little bit about them but no one else. If he told the woman in front of him, she'd most likely dissect those dreams trying to figure out their deeper, hidden meaning. He knew what their meaning was and he didn't need to be told.

"Sam," Verbena prompted when he didn't say anything. "I only want to help but I can't do that if you're not willing to talk to me." She got up from behind the desk and went over to the sofa and armchair. "How about if we sit over here," she suggested. Although it had been Sam's initial choice to remain at the desk, she felt that if he moved to surroundings that were more comfortable he might feel freer to open up.

Without answering, Sam got up and sat on the other end of the sofa. He held himself stiffly, not allowing his body to relax against the plush comfort of the sofa.

"If you don't want to tell me all about the dreams, it's ok," Verbena reassured him. "Can you just tell me a little bit of what they're about?"

"My dad," Sam mumbled. "They've been about my dad.

"I see." Although she'd suspected, based on what Al had told her, that that's what Sam dreams were about, she had to let him tell her. "How does it make you feel when you dream about him?"

Sam shook his head slightly and wouldn't look at the woman sitting next to him. "Sad, I guess and maybe…maybe a little guilty."

"It's normal to feel sad about the loss of a loved one. Time may make the hurt less severe, but sadness can last a lifetime but why guilty?"

Sam hesitated before answering. He still wasn't sure how much he trusted the woman in front of him. She may not be here working for Weitzman but that didn't mean his words wouldn't come back to haunt him. Despite that, he chose to be as honest as he could. "Because it's my fault."

"Why would you think it's your fault, Sam?"

"Because it is. I wasn't there to help my father. If I had, he probably wouldn't have died." He looked away from Verbena not wanting to see accusation in her eyes. "I didn't even get home for his funeral." He looked back over to her, his eyes hard. "Wouldn't you feel guilty?"

She didn't specifically answer Sam's last question, focusing on his answer to her previous question. "What did your father die of?"

"He had a massive coronary," Sam replied.

"How do you think you caused that?"

"How?" he echoed. He wasn't sure how this was supposed to help him. He felt like he was having the same conversation with Verbena Beeks that he'd had with Al and didn't see how the outcome was going to be any different. When he spoke, his voice was a monotone. He could have been talking about anyone else it was so devoid of emotion. "I wasn't there to help him keep his farm and he lost it. I wasn't there to help him support the family. I didn't bother to go home from Thanksgiving. All I cared about was school. I was selfish and he paid the price."

"Sam, you were 19 years old. Many people are in school at that time. I suspect your father expected you to be there. Did he ever suggest that school wasn't the right place for you to be?"

"He shouldn't have had to. I should have known that was the right thing to do no matter what he said but I didn't and...and," unable to keep the emotion at bay, it flooded into his voice. "He died because I wasn't there for him. I lost my Dad." He leaned forward wrapping his arms around himself protectively and rocking back and forth slightly. "It's my fault."

She moved over to him and rubbed his back. "No. You were young, Sam. At that age, most people don't consider the possibility of sudden death."

Sam pulled away just a little from the comforting hand. He bit his lip trying to rein in his emotions and keep them from spilling over. Somehow, this was different from when he told Al the same things although he couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Verbena was still really a stranger to him but, if that were the case, shouldn't he be able to stay more emotionally detached? "That's no an excuse," he said roughly. "He was my father. He was always there when we needed him. I should have been there for him. I didn't even get to his funeral. By the time I got there, it was over. They'd already put him in the ground."

"Why did you miss his funeral?" It didn't make sense to Verbena that Sam would do that considering his feelings about his father.

"Because the bus broke down and I got stuck in some small town outside of Pittsburgh. When they finally got a new bus, it was too late. I was sitting on a bus while they buried my father and when I got home, no one wanted anything to do with me." He glanced briefly over to Verbena to see what effect his words were having on her. "I can't say I blame them much."

Verbena's eyes turned to sorrow. The man beside her had been torturing himself for years for something he'd had no control over. It sounded like there had been some family fall-out from the situation as well. "Did you sabotage the bus? Cause it to break down?"

"No," he answered quickly. "It doesn't matter, though. I wasn't there when it counted." He looked at her with sorrowful eyes. "Now I'm being punished for it. I lose him more and more every day. I can hardly remember the sound of his voice any more."

"That's normal, Sam." She decided to share something with him. "When I was growing up, I had an aunt that I was very close to. She was always behind me 100. Took me to Europe. Helped me get through pre-med and then medical school. We talked everyday for years and then she died in a car accident. I can't hear her voice anymore either. It's just a part of how we move through life."

"It's not just that. It's not that I can't remember. It's being replaced by..." He caught himself before he said anything else clamping his mouth shut. He pulled in a deep breath trying to order his thoughts. "I just don't want to forget anymore," he finally forced out in a choked voice. Impatiently he swiped the tear he could feel on his cheek.

"I don't think anything can replace your father's memory, Sam."

There was no internal debate this time. Somehow, Verbena had forced him to face something in himself. "Al can," he answered just as softly.

"You think the fact that you care about Al will diminish how you feel about your father?"

He nodded slightly. "He does things like my Dad did. He read to me when I was sick. I feel like I'm pushing aside Dad's memory and replacing it with Al. When that happens, I just get so angry." He again brushed at the tears on his face unable to stop them from falling. "I don't mean to do it - to forget Dad. It just keeps happening."

"That's not fair to Al." She paused collecting her thoughts. "Sam, you suffered a terrible loss, but massive coronaries are generally the result of a lifetime of heart disease or a genetic malfunction, neither of which you could have prevented by going home from school when you think you should have. As to the bus, you didn't cause it to break down. It was a horrid twist of fate, but it wasn't your fault. It's sad that you weren't told that at the time, but it's true."

Sam didn't need to be told that he'd been unfair to his friend. That he'd figured out. It was just now that he was figuring out why. Somehow having his unfairness pointed out to him was the last straw for his tenuous emotional control. He stopped really hearing what Verbena said after that. He'd heard it all so many times before from Al, his mother, his sister. It didn't change how he felt.

His wandering had brought him over to the door and he slid down it to sit on the floor, his arms wrapped around his legs. His words came in a torrent when he spoke. "I just wanted to say goodbye to him but I couldn't and now I keep forgetting and I blame Al but it's not his fault and I don't know what to do."

Verbena grabbed the box of Kleenex that she keep on the table next to the couch and brought it over to Sam.

She sat on the floor next to him putting her arm around him. "We'll work on that together, Sam. This is a lot to have to deal with. You've buried this pain for so long." She paused before bringing up what she suspected back on his revelations. With a gentle voice she asked, "Have you ever allowed you self to go through the whole grief process, Sam? Are you aware there are different stages?"

Sam shook his head slightly. "I don't know. I guess so."

Verbena nodded. "I believe you may still be in the denial stage."

"Denial?" Sam questioned. "I know that my father died. I don't deny that. Trust me. I know that's all too true.""

She gave him a comforting smile, "I'm not saying that's what you're denying. I'm saying you're denying that it wasn't your fault and that you have a right to grieve for your father."

"What's that got to do with Al?" He took one of the tissues from the box and wiped some of the tears from his face.

"I think that you're right. Al's been filling a hole that was carved out when you lost your father. That hole likely started when your brother was killed. It just got much larger and deeper when your father died. I think you're denying yourself the right to have any comfort." She rubbed his back again. She'd noticed at he seemed previously to respond to touch and this man needed a caring touch now more then ever.

"If he's filling that hole like you say, how come I keep trying to push him away when he does?"

"Do you feel you deserve to have that hole filled?"

"Not...not," he drew a deep breath. "Not if it means I forget about Dad." To him that would be the final betrayal of his father. He'd deny himself whatever he had to in order to prevent that from happening.

"Then that's your answer." She sighed. "I suspect you've been through several of these stages over the years but not fully allowing yourself to get past that denial stage. This isn't a linear process for many people. I suspect that part of the anger you feel and likely depression is due to your trying to move forward, but your fear of losing your father brings you back to denial."

"I'm not depressed," Sam shot back. "I didn't come here so you could tell me that and get me hooked on a bunch of drugs so don't even suggest that."

"Did I mention drugs? Often depression is transient and most people experience it to an extent. It's only when it's chronic do we need to treat it and even then drugs are not the only tool used." She appealed to his medical training. "If you had a patient that had high blood pressure, would you only put them on drugs to lower their blood pressure?"

"Only if nothing else worked," he replied. He pulled in another deep breath and scrubbed at his face with the balled up tissues again. "I just feel so lost right now."

"It's the same with this type of treatment. I only go with drugs if it's in the best interest of my patient. They're not a cure-all." She gave him a hug. "I'm sure you feel lost at the moment. You're facing things that I suspect you've buried for 18 years. Possibly even over 20 if you buried your pain when your brother died. It's going to take awhile to address those issues. You've taken the first step through." She paused. "You need time to work through this. You're not going to be able to just do this today and everything changes. I suspect there's a lot of anger that needs to come out and a lot of tears that haven't been shed yet."

She pulled his chin up to look at him. "This office can be a safe place to do that. I hope you'll trust me enough to let me help you, Sam."

"Yeah, I think so." He took several deep breaths trying to compose himself as much as he could. "I guess I really owe Al an apology. None of this is his fault but I take it out on him."

"I'm sure Al would appreciate that. Even more, though, I think he'll be glad that you're going to seek out a better way to deal with these issues." She found it ironic that a man that had such a stated distrust of her profession would have sought out this solution for his friend.

"Do you think you can call him again?" he asked hesitantly. "Maybe you...um...maybe you can help me explain to him why?"

"Sure, Sam. We can do that." She looked at him, his emotions free and open on his face and in his body language. "Do you want to give yourself a little time first or are you ready for me to call him now?"

"Now, please," Sam responded after briefly mulling over the offer. "I don't want to wait."

She nodded and got up, walking to her desk and giving the Admiral a call. Once she received his agreement to come to her office again, she went back to Sam, offering her hand to help him up. "If you want Al to be able to get into the room, I suggest we move back to the seating area."

Sam stood up on wobbling knees, allowed Verbena to lead him back to the sofa, and dropped down onto it. He saw the water cooler across from him. "Could I have some water," he asked quietly.

She smiled. "Of course. Let me get it for you." Retrieving the water, she'd given it to him right as a knock came on the door. From the sound of it, it was Al. She went over to open the door. Once open she invited him in, giving him a knowing look that warned him to be on his best behavior. She didn't want anything upsetting Sam more at this time. His emotions were raw and the pain he was feeling was real. She knew the Admiral would want to help him, but there were ways to do that and the Papa Bear act wasn't necessarily the best choice at the moment.

Al noted Verbena's look. He wasn't entirely sure, but based on some of the sessions he'd had with the shrinks at Bethesda years before and the ones from NASA, he figured that Sam had been through the mill. Seeing his friend on the couch, he knew that was the right assessment. Sam's entire body quivered slightly and his face, although he was trying to maintain composure, spoke to the intensity of the session.

"Hey, Kid," Al tossed to him. He wasn't sure how much else to say and waited to hear what Sam had to say.

Hearing Al's voice, Sam's head came up and he looked in his direction. He tried to return the greeting but his voice caught. He put his head down again catching his lower lip between his teeth.

Al moved to the couch and sat down next to his friend, angled so he took in both Sam and Verbena, who had taken the armchair.

Verbena opened this part of the session. "Sam asked me to call you, Admiral. We need to give him some time to pull his thoughts together." She knew it was more than his thoughts, but she wanted to give him something to hang onto.

Al nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." To Sam he said, "Take your time, Sam." His buddy looked like hell. He figured Sam must have something pretty important to say if he'd asked for him now. He hoped it wasn't that there was a bigger problem.

Sam nodded slightly before scrubbing his hands across his face again. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Al tilted his head with a nod. "Apology accepted. I know you you've had a lot of issues to deal with."

"No," Sam exclaimed upset by Al's easy acceptance of his apology. "You don't know why. You can't just say that." He turned to Verbena seeking her assistance. "Tell him," he begged.

Al was taken aback by Sam's sudden reversal. "I...I..." he looked to Verbena as well , his countenance confused.

Verbena looked at Sam, knowing that he'd have to address this as well, but providing the framework. "You know that you and Sam have been butting heads a lot of late. From my understanding, that's been happening a lot when you've been caring for Sam. Sam has uncovered the reason it's been difficult for him when that has occurred."

"Yeah. He's not crazy about me treating him like a kid." Al sighed. "I can't help it. Sam's like family to me. I don't know if I can stop that entirely." He knew that Verbena had his number but this was as far as he was willing to go with Sam hearing it.

"I don't mean to be angry with you," Sam offered. "I'm really angry with me and I take it out on you."

"What do you have to be angry with yourself about, Kid? I'm the one that gets over protective sometimes."

"Because I," Sam started to explain but stopped unable to continue the thought. "It's hard," he said looking over to Verbena.

"I know it is, Sam. Sometimes the things we have to do are hard. You're doing fine. Like the Admiral says, take your time."

Al looked at Sam struggling and then at Verbena. He figured he'd give the kid a way out. "It's ok. Really."

Again, Sam opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Deciding the easiest way to get it out would be to put aside the advice to take his time and just say it straight the same way it was easiest to get a band-aid off by just pulling it hard. "I feel like I'm replacing my father with you," he blurted out. He glanced over to see what reaction his statement had on his friend.

Al blinked at the revelation. "I could never do that, Sam. I know how much your father meant to you."

"You're not," Sam countered shaking his head quickly. "I am. I'm the one who's doing it but I take it out on you." He finished by saying, "It scares me how much I depend on you."

Al's heart went out to his friend. "Ah, Sammy..." As the slight change in his name come out, he stopped, knowing too late that Verbena had heard that. He swallowed and went on. "We depend on each other. You think I'd be here without you?" He licked at his lips. "I think you're wrong, though, Sam. You're not replacing your Dad. I could never fill those shoes."

"You could have died in that cabin before I got back," Sam continued unhearing what his friend said. "Or I could have because of my own stupidity trying to do too much too soon and I wouldn't have been able to say goodbye again."

"But that didn't happen, Sam. You saved me. Remember what they said at the hospital?" Al put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You listen to me, Sam Beckett. You're my best friend. That goes a long way with me and I know in my bones that you would never arbitrarily leave me without saying goodbye. I hope you know, that goes both ways."

"But it happened with, Dad and if I think - if I replace him in my mind with you, how do I know it won't happen again?" Sam rubbed his face with his hands. He'd thought talking with Verbena would help him somehow but he felt more confused now than he had before he'd come to her. Not only confused, he felt like a wound had been ripped open and salt had been rubbed into it. His emotions were a chaotic swirl and all he longed for right now was some peace.

Verbena listened to the back and forth between the two men. She wondered how much Sam was actually taking in or whether Al knew there were layers of meaning in Sam's responses. She realized that working with Sam would be a long-term commitment. She also knew that the more she could develop a good rapport with the Admiral, the better she'd be able to help Sam and potentially the former military pilot and astronaut as well.

She stepped in. "Admiral, Sam's just started to address issues he's buried for years. I'm not sure that any of this is making full sense to either of you. Sam's main reason for asking you back in was to start to make amends for snapping at you. He's still worried about his memory of his father and how you play into new memories. Over time, I'm sure he'll be more at peace with how things settle in his mind. For now though, I think both of you just need to accept that you've got a strong friendship and that's going to be a key to future healing."

Al nodded. "Ok. I can live with that as long as I know he's moving forward." He smiled at Sam. "You know I'll be with you every step of the way."

"I know, Sam agreed. Sometimes, though, I need to do this on my own. It's not all about you." He took the sting out of his words with a small, sad smile.

Al smiled. "Yeah. It's all about you." He said it with sincerely making it clear he didn't begrudge that at all.

Verbena smiled. "Sam, you did a lot of good work today. The trail ahead isn't going to be easy and there will be rocks and thorns along the way, but eventually, you'll be able to put things into more comfortable places. For now though, it's best that we end this for today. I'll contact you for our next session. In the meantime, I'm going to go grab some lunch. You two are free to use the office as long as you need. Just close the door behind you."

Al nodded. "Thanks, Verbena." He figured he'd let Sam take the lead on that.

"Thank you," Sam said quietly. Right now, he wasn't sure he was ready to leave the relative safety the office provided and face anyone else. At that moment, he felt wrung out. Even in the hospital, he hadn't felt like his energy had been sapped as much as he did right now. Once the psychiatrist had left the office and the door was closed, he turned to Al. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Al smiled. "I know, Kid." He looked at Sam and read in his face and stance how tired he was. "You want to go over to the Buckhorn Saloon for lunch?" It was Sam's favorite restaurant in San Antonio, NM and within driving distance of the project. Indeed, the story Al had heard was that the Owl Cafe, the Buckhorn's biggest competitor where green chili cheeseburgers were concerned, had started making those after scientists from the Manhattan project has started coming there, claiming to be prospectors. He figured that Sam might wish to get away from the project right now. Besides, the drive would give him a chance to clear his head. "I'll buy."

Sam wasn't ready to face anyone right now, whether he knew them or not. He needed to withdraw someplace secluded where he could get himself back on an even keel. The way he felt right now, he didn't think he could handle the simple task of picking a meal off of a menu. "No thank you." He looked up at Al where he was sitting next to him. "Can I just go home, please. I don't think I can work anymore today. I'm so tired. I'll stay late the rest of the week so I don't get behind."

"Sure, Sam." Al didn't think it would be wise for Sam to drive back on his own. "Why don't we take my car home? You can get your Jeep tomorrow." Al frowned a bit. "I don't think this is what Dr. Rivers envisioned for your first day back."

"No, I guess not," Sam agreed.

Al shrugged. "Well there's nothing we can do about it now. However, when we get you home, I want you to promise me you'll rest today, Kid. I'll fix dinner and everything. You just need to rest, capish?"

"Yeah," Sam quickly agreed. "I don't think I can really do anything else. I didn't know I'd feel so drained if I did this."

With a sympathetic look, Al nodded. "Yeah. Facing things you don't want to can suck the life right out of you." His tone indicated this was information learned from experience.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam slowly got to his feet. He felt like in the time since he'd walked into the office, he'd aged about 20 years. "Do you need to get anything before we leave?"

Al shook his head. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. Let's get you home."

"Yeah, ok." Sam followed Al out of the office.

As they were waiting for the elevator, Sam's assistant came running up to them. "Dr. Beckett," she called out. When Sam turned she held out a small piece of paper to him. "This call came in for you. I know you were waiting for it but I wasn't sure where you were."

Sam took the message and read it, a genuine smile breaking out on his face. "It's from Motts," he told Al. "He's willing to meet with us."

"That's great, Sam. We can talk about it on the way home."

Sam nodded and thanked his assistant. When the elevator door opened, his step was a little lighter as he got in. "I'll have to call him back and set something up."

"I know, Kid," Al said with a sigh. "At least this is good news."

By the time they reached Al's car in the parking lot, the small burst of energy the news of Motts agreement to a meeting had given Sam had worn off. As he got in the car, he was subdued once more. "Do you want to get something to eat for lunch? Maybe we can just get something to eat at the house."

Al nodded. "Yeah. We could do that. You want Chinese?"

"No, not Chinese. I want a burger. Can we just use the drive-thru at McDonald's?" Sam knew Al would find that out of character for him. McDonald's was usually the last place he wanted to go to eat but sometimes, he found the food there, no matter how unhealthy, comfort food. This was one of those times.

"I thought..." Al started. Seeing Sam's face, he didn't finish his first thought. "Yeah, Sam. McDonald's sounds good."

There was a McDonald's not too far from Sam's house. Going through the drive-thru, Al placed their order, handing the bags to Sam when they were passed to him. A short time later, he was pulling into the garage. "I'll do better tomorrow," Sam promised before getting out of the car.

"You were fine, Kid. Just bit off more than you could chew today. Now remember. Today is rest. Total rest."

"Yeah, just rest." The two men went into the house. After eating their lunch in the kitchen, Sam went to the living room crashing on the couch. The stresses of the morning were quickly catching up with him and it had been all he could do to finish his burger and fries. Despite his fatigue, he was determined that he was not going to spend the afternoon sleeping on the couch. He'd had enough of doing that during his recuperation.

Al came into the living room a short time later. He saw that Sam was doing his best not to give in to sleep and was staring blankly at the television screen. He was sure the kid probably didn't even know what was on. "It's ok if you want to get a little sleep," he advised. "It's probably a pretty good idea after the morning you've had."

"You think it'll get better?" Sam asked as he continued to stare at the TV.

Al sat next to Sam on the couch and put an arm around his shoulders. "Sure it will, Kid. It might take a little while but you made a good start today."

Sam leaned into the arm around him needing the comfort from his friend right now. "Thanks, Al. Thanks for always being here and knowing what I need.

"That's what friends…what family does," Al said giving a little squeeze. "Now how 'bout if you lay down for a little while and get some rest." Without waiting for Sam's agreement, he got up from the couch and urged the younger man to lie down. He pulled the quilt from the back and draped it over his friend.

Despite his reluctance of just a short time ago not to sleep, Sam realized it's what he most needed right now. Al was right, it would take time but things would get better. He could trust that his friend would be there to help him through.

FINIS

19 of 19


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